


In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

by Woeful_Wordsmith



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Eventual Romance, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Male-Female Friendship, Mann Co., Mann vs. Machine, Multi, POV First Person, Slow Burn, Team, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Team Fluff, Team as Family, like wow this book has a lot of angst because we're literally getting paid to kill people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 154,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25892809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woeful_Wordsmith/pseuds/Woeful_Wordsmith
Summary: [UPDATES FRIDAYS}After all of the convincing and hard work thanks to Miss Pauling, the Administrator extends a job for me to keep a team of mercenaries organized for the CEO of Mann Co., Saxton Hale.Upon arrival, I'm met with a ragtag group of characters, some nicer than others. From dealing with the bathroom order in the morning and who's making dinner to performing covert operations and launching full-on battle campaigns, it's clear to see why they'd need a little help with staying in line.(MC x TF2 Mercenaries fic; slow burn)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 60





	1. One: Meet the Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Miss Pauling)
> 
> I'm still surprised she decided to go through with the job process. She knows how rough it gets for me at times, so I was a bit worried for her when she initially approached me on the whole "I want to work alongside you" idea. We gave it a shot nonetheless, and The Administrator created a position for her to fill in. I can only hope that both of these crazy ladies know what they're doing. For right now, I'm going to have to worry about whether or not the guys are going to scare her off.

We're cruising by at a solid 85 miles per hour, the desert landscape passing too quickly for me to focus on anything. Sand plumes behind us. The sun makes sure everyone knows she exists, burning my skin and reflecting off of Miss Pauling's helmet right into my retinas. My arms wrap around her stomach since she doesn't have handles on the side for sitting support.

"Hey, are you sure you _really_ want to accept this assignment?" Miss Pauling yells to be heard over her engine. "Last call to bail out!"

"I thought the last call was when we first hit the road!" I yell back.

"That was the Administrator's last call, mine is right now!"

I turn my head slightly to get the reflection out of my eyes. "I think it'll be fine! I have three little brothers back home who would get into trouble all the time!"

Her shoulders move as if she's laughing. She increases speed. I move an arm to turn around easier to ensure my luggage is still strapped to the rack on the rear of her moped. Returning back to my normal position, she starts to slow some. The canyon wall beside us sees a small break, our vehicle slowing down to stop at it. A cardboard cut out of a bush and a not-very-convincing curtain rest in front of what I can assume to be a cave. Miss Pauling dismounts and deploys the kickstand to keep her bike upright. 

"We're here," she chimes tauntingly.

I throw my leg over to get off, taking off my helmet and resting it on my seat. My escort helps me with taking my luggage down but is denied the allowance of helping me take it in. I sling my backpack on and pull the handle to my suitcase up, rolling it along as we approach the opening. Dust sticks to my skin while sweat acts as the adhesive, definitely warranting a clothing change once I get settled in. Miss Pauling has stains on her underarms, meaning I certainly have them, too. 

Beeping is heard and sentries target us as we push the curtain open. She sighs and rolls her eyes, beckoning me forward with the promise they won't go off since we're wearing purple. I chug along beside her, keeping up so then they'll get the both of us if she's wrong. The turret follows us, whirring its focus back to the curtain after we're far enough out of range. We walk up to the first building we see, a garage that gives me mechanic vibes. The door opens as we approach. Figures shuffle around inside and voices can be heard, bickering for the most part. Miss Pauling stops me.

"Now, listen. These guys are more than just ' _a rowdy bunch,_ ' alright?" She whispers, straightening out my collar. "They'll take some warming up to. You're going to be subject to _a lot_ of weird behaviors, and you just have to power through it. They can be quite pleasant, but just a bit overbearing."

She nods and sighs, leading me over to the garage entrance. She hangs back and motions for me to enter, my feet carrying me in before I have the chance to ready myself. I'm met with a room of 3 men, all of their personalities seeming clear just by the way they present themselves. We stand and stare at one another for a few awkward moments until Miss Pauling makes her way in and breaks the ice.

"Guys, this is the assistant I was telling you about. She's here to help you with things around the base that's not within my job description," she introduces me, a meek greeting escaping my throat. 

"What's up? They call me Scout," the lanky one starts, touting a Boston accent and making his way over to me to get up close and personal. He doesn't look like much physically, looking comparatively weaker than the other two present in the room. "And, this is a fort, Miss Pauling."

"It's the same thing!" She scoffs.

"It's a fort." The doctor-looking fellow stays planted where he is. Doves occupy his shoulders and he speaks in a German accent. "I'm Medic, please refer to me as such."

The last one wears a gas mask and just... observes. I turn to him, and he doesn't utter a word or move a muscle. Scout speaks up for him. "That's Pyro, not much of a talker. He also prefers to call it a fort." Miss Pauling groans and rubs her temples.

"I-- I see... Hello, to you all," I say, not being able to take my eyes off of Pyro. He stares back at me just the same. Scout rests his hand on my suitcase, which takes me out of my spell. "No no, it's fine. I-I've got it."

Scout chuckles and pulls it away from me. "It's not polite to have a lady carry her own stuff."

"I-- Alrighty then," I sigh, glancing over at Miss Pauling who shrugs with a smile. I still hold onto my backpack, and I want it to stay that way for the time being. 

"Where's the rest of the team?" Miss Pauling asks, pushing up her glasses.

"Around, somewhere. Do you want me to go find them?" Medic offers, stepping forward finally.

"I think it might be best if she sees them in their native state. I can't stick around for too long, though," she responds. "I'll stick around for two meetings or so, just to make sure you guys won't kill her."

"Kill me?" 

"Just an expression!" She defends.

I feel cold all of a sudden and Miss Pauling laughs a little at what I assume she thought was a joke. The rest give a little chuckle, too. Except for Pyro. Pyro doesn't budge. Miss Pauling ushers me along to follow Medic, Scout branching off with my belongings. We exit the current building and transition to a bigger one, coming up to an area that seems to be a common room. There's a kitchenette and a few tables that seat 9 altogether. Traces of smoke and alcohol are prominent in the air. The fridge closes, and I turn, noticing a rather large man. He's ginormous compared to me, his hand probably able to cover my entire face. He has a plate with a sandwich on it, a gentle smile graced upon his face.

"Oh, hello there!" I greet, trying to shed the awkward skin right off the bat. 

"Hello, are you new helper?" He inquires. "I am Heavy. I carry large gun, her name is Sasha."

He motions over to a machine gun resting nearby on the couch in the living area. I squint at it, mulling over the safety hazard this presents. I don't really blame him, he _is_ wearing a vest with at least 20 rounds on it. His name also makes sense, a heavy gun for a heavyset man.

"I'll try to remember." Miss Pauling pulls me along to follow Medic some more, Heavy waving to me before sitting down to eat. The halls are well lit and give the feeling of a medical facility. Signs are posted and lit to steer in the general direction of where things are, one marked "Intelligence" which sounds a bit dumb. Large walkways with blast doors are prominent and frequent, though, hinting at defense systems.

"Ah, Demoman," Miss Pauling calls out, a man with an eyepatch stopping and turning to us. "Meet the Assistant."

"Aye, welcome lassie." 

"Hi." 

He continues on his way past me, Miss Pauling sighing and checking her watch. "That's my cue to leave. You're on your own. I'll miss having you as a roommate."

She pats my shoulder and gives a thumbs up, leaving me with the menacing Medic. He doesn't comment on her departure and keeps walking, forcing me to keep up. He has a clean look, what with his white dress shirt, red tie, black pants and shoes. His sleeves are rolled up and showcase his forearms. He looks back at me, and I look up at him, a smirk forming on his face that forces me to smile back. He seems pleased with our interaction and carries himself much lighter than before. The dove on his shoulder coos at me, while cocking its head.

"His name is Archimedes Two," Medic explains.

"What happened to one?" I question.

"He's... lost." 

I nod and turn my attention to the next person who extends a greeting to me. "Well, I'll be. Are you the new assistant?"

I enter another garage area with a guy wearing construction gear sitting at a bench and tinkering with a module tucked away in a toolbox. I have a feeling, I'm going to hearing that same phrase a ton. "Yes, I am. Hello there."

"I'm Engineer, Engie for short," he speaks. He gets up and takes off his hard hat, wiping his forehead with one hand while extending his arm to shake my hand with the other. I take it up and give a firm shake, earning a whoop from Engineer. "You give a mighty fine shake there, Miss."

"Thank you," I respond, unsure if that was even the right response. He smiles, and I forcefully smile back once more. 

"Yo! See you've met Engie," Scout calls, pushing past Medic to get to us.

"Oh, you're back," I comment, Engineer not being too thrilled with Scout's presence. 

He pushes the skinnier boy out, despite being shorter than him. "Now, you know how I feel about you being in here, Scout. Move along!" He warns, effectively throwing out Scout, me in tow. "It was nice meeting you!"

I wave to him and run to catch up to both Medic and Scout, stepping into an elevator with the two. The soft hum of the apparatus fills in the silence and the floor ding prompts us to get going. The hallways are darker now, dingy and claustrophobic. There's a greenish-brown filter over my vision. The scent of tobacco only gets stronger. I try to stay in the middle of the hall to the best of my ability, but a certain someone is making that very difficult. Scout is the kind to be in your personal bubble, just a few steps too close to me than I'd like for a stranger. 

"So, where ya from?" He asks, trying to step up away from the stranger phase.

"Around," I answer. "You?"

"Boston," he purrs. "Massachusetts."

"And you, Medic?" I quickly spew, trying to stave off the embarrassment. 

"Germany," he states without missing a beat. He slows down and stops in front of a door. He knocks and waits, knocking again when there's no response. He grumbles and opens the door, a french voice spitting out an aggressive "go away."

"Bonjour!" I tout as I stick my head in the doorway. " _Je suis le nouvel assistant qui est là pour aider aux opérations de la base._ "

Both Medic and Scout idle by in silence while the man sitting in the room looks on in approval, standing up to get a closer look at me. "So you speak French?"

"That of a young child. I only took two classes in grade school," I disclose, feeling rather proud of myself for remembering enough to say that.

"I, am Spy," he reveals. "Pleasure to have you as an addition to the team. Also, please, this is a fort."

"Glad to be here," I say, very unapproving of what I'm saying at this point. Why are they all sticklers about what we call this place? I open my mouth again against my will. "I like your suit."

My body cringes slightly, why am I like this? He doesn't pick up on it though. "Thank you."

"Alright, alright. Let's get a move on, don't flatter Fancy Pants too much," Scout gabs, pulling me away and herding Medic along for the ride. Medic closes the door behind us and we trek back down to the main floor, Scout suggesting that we swing by my room so I can drop off the rest of my items and change. I agree with that notion and have the skinny boy guide me as Medic breaks away from our trio to return to his daily duties. He avoids conversation this time and walks us across a large, open warehouse area to the other side, barracks being just beyond the blast door.

We turn the corner, and I'm nearly given a heart attack when I'm welcomed by a very invasive "Ma'am, Soldier reporting as requested!"

I scream and stumble back to the floor, Scout pulling a baseball bat from his backpack. He groans and taps the bowl helmet on the other's head. Scout reaches out a hand to help me up. "That's Soldier. He's a bootlicker."

"Oh-- Haha, uh-- Nice to meet you, Soldier," I nervously laugh. My heart beats in my throat and in my temples. He still stands at attention, a thousand-yard stare about him. I grumble, standing in front of him and saluting. He salutes then waits for me to drop my arm before his. He does an about-face away from me when I mutter "fall out."

"Is your family military?" Scout asks, returning his weapon to its proper place.

"My uncle," I mumble, pushing his arm to tell him that I want to go to my room. We traverse to the end of the hallway, Scout telling me that he'll be waiting in his room two doors down. I sigh and close the door behind me, now knowing what Miss Pauling meant when she said they weren't just _"rowdy boys."_

I look out the window that lets in light to my bare living quarters, closing the curtains some just in case a passerby sees me. Undressing and alleviating myself from my gross clothing, I lift my arms to air out some. The air conditioning running through the building doing a remarkable job of cooling me down in this desert heat. I step over to my backpack and pull out some wipes and deodorant, cleaning up to the best of my ability without access to a shower. Choosing a purple dress shirt and a black knee-length skirt, I look in the mirror to deduce I resemble Miss Pauling. The outfit is already on, so I just roll with it and throw my wipes away while reorganizing my items. Stepping out of my room, I knock two doors down and collect Scout so he can lead me to wherever we need to go. 

"There's one more person to meet, right?" 

"How'd you know?" Scout asserts.

"You have nine chairs in your dining area, so that means nine people live here, right?" I deduce, Scout scoffing.

He brings me back to the common area and starts putting on a pot of coffee. "You can only bother him if you come bearing a gift." 

"Why do I have a feeling that that rule only applies to you?" I tease, pulling out a chair to wait for the brew. The machine sputters a few times as it struggles to fill the pot, spitting out the last drops of water as it is unable to produce anymore. Scout picks up the pot and flips the lip onto it, setting it down on the table for me to pick it up. 

We make our way out of the common area to a sort of outdoor plaza between all of the buildings on-site, a tower on the other side. The journey over was much more taxing than I wished it to be, breaking a sweat when I already had cleaned up from before. Scout stops at the foot of a ladder, bowing his head and holding out his arms as though I was royalty. I look up at the top and then back down at my hand, shrugging and getting creative. I wrap my free hand around the back and lift it up to the highest rung I can reach, then stepping up with my feet, repeating this over and over until I can set the pot down on the floorboard and pull myself up. 

The man inside sits still and patient, his eyes trained through a tiny scope. That's how he sees the world all day, isn't it?

I look over the balcony and wave down below at Scout who waves back. Taking a deep breath, I knock twice on the door gently and watch the man rest his weapon before standing up to let me in. He looks down at me, a ginger grin happening to be his expression. He takes off his hat to place it on his chest, moving aside and letting me in.

"I saw you come in with Miss Pauling, which makes you the assistant?" 

I nod and set down the coffee next to an empty pot. "That's me."

"I'm Sniper. Keep watch of the place," he informs in a low voice, replacing his hat to his head.

"You a Kiwi?" I ask, noticing his dialect.

He lifts an eyebrow and scoffs. "Nope, Aussie."

"Ah," I confirm, not really knowing the difference between the two, to be honest. He sits back down and resumes position. 

I reach over and pour the last of the first pot into his mug and then some of the fresh one to fill it. He thanks me and reaches for his mug, sitting up to drink from it. "I would suggest you close your curtains all the way, next time."

"Excuse me?"

He swirls his mug around and doesn't face me. "I saw movement in the barracks and thought you were BLU infiltrating since no alarms were raised. I see most of everything from up here, so I'd recommend keeping windows shut. That is... unless you have something to show me?"

He eyes me on the last bit, not giving me any idea of if he's trying to be gentlemanly or perverted. I nod anyway and feel the heat in my cheeks. The fan that's in here is just pushing hot air from one place to another. From first glance, it looks like he lives up here. A folding bed frame with no folding mattress is tucked away in the corner on top of some ammo boxes. The couch is worn out and showcases a divot that roughly gives me an idea of how Sniper sleeps. I walk over to it and instinctively straighten up the pillows, fold the blanket, and fluff out the cushions the best I could. 

"No need for you to do that for me, Luv," Sniper coos. "The coffee is quite enough."

"Sorry, it just bothered me a little. See, I have brothers back home... And..." I slow myself down and sigh, sheepishly smiling when he gives me a raised eyebrow. "Nevermind, it's not that important."

He turns away, looks back through his scope, and scans the cracked desert landscape. I've grown very uncomfortable with the energy we have created in this watchtower today. Taking my leave without saying anything, I take the empty coffee pot with me, motioning for Scout to catch as I drop it over the balcony. Luckily, he has basic reflexes and keeps the glass from shattering on the ground. This keeps him occupied as I make my way back. He offers to helps me down the last two rungs, but I decline and have him simply escort me back to the main building to take me to my room for unpacking.

"We'll have dinner in a few hours, so relax a bit, okay?" He suggests, clicking his tongue and winking. "Someone's always around somewhere, but I don't think you'll need anything until then."

"Okay, then."

He closes my door and leaves me to myself. Thinking about what Sniper said, I rush over to my window and pull the curtain all the way over. It gets significantly darker, warranting the ceiling light. After turning it on, I decide to get to work. My thoughts are all over the place from the past hour or so, meeting all of these zany caricatures with some being more pleasant than others. I have an idea of who might like me already and who might not. Scout obviously has it for Miss Pauling, as told by her during late-night convos about how our day went and how our jobs suck. Despite this, he acted like he at the very least wanted to be pals. Engineer is rather polite, as well as Spy and Heavy... Soldier too, if I really squint hard enough. Medic is standoffish, Sniper the same, and Pyro... Is Pyro. Who was the Demoman guy anyway? It felt as though he didn't even want to talk to me at all! A sigh flees from my mouth when I drop a clothing hanger, having to kneel down to pick it up. 

_They all still seem like friends, though._

I retrieve it and feed it through a shirt, stowing it away in the closet. They have to be friends, right? Their lives are in each others' hands every single day, so they _have_ to be on good terms with each other. I slide my suitcase under my bed and set my backpack on the floor of the closet. My back hits the bed, a tiny sliver of sun hitting my face from a crack in the curtain. 

Miss Pauling was right: I don't know what I'm getting myself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	2. Two: Self-Loafing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Engie)
> 
> This new assistant is going to have to need some help while settling into the fort. As minor as getting her up in the morning before everyone else is, it's the least I can do for a lady with no one else to turn to. It's a shame I couldn't find her files for her when she paid a visit to my garage, though. My workshop is messier than the nest of a family of rats that live in the scrap pile of the pigs back home. I just didn't expect it to be messy enough to attract some unwanted critters that have long overstayed their welcome.

My body shakes but just my shoulder at first which I brush off in the beginning. I hear mumbling and turn over, trying to go back to sleep. The sun isn't up yet, I know that for sure. Some footsteps enter and exit, and that's when I remember I'm not back home in the apartment I share with Miss Pauling. I sit up and look over to the door. Looking down, I realize I'm still in my clothes instead of pajamas. The sound of my feet hitting the floor prompts whoever was in here before to come back in, a stocky figure appearing in my doorway.

"Well, rise and shine Ma'am!" A sweet and smooth southern tone chimes, the honey of snark oozing off of every word.

I wave, pretty sure that I'm talking to Engineer. My eyes burn with the sand lodged near my tear ducts which reduces my ability to see clearly. "What... What time is it?"

"It is currently..." He pauses to check his watch I presume, "five hours and forty-five minutes into the morning."

"Oh, gosh," I whine, finally clearing my vision to be able to see him in my doorway. "I fell asleep last night, didn't I?"

"Yes'm," he confirms. "I suppose you were just overwhelmed with yesterday. Anyway, I came to wake you up before the mornin' rush; figured you'd want to clean up."

My brain isn't awake enough to comprehend what's happening. "Morning rush, what--?"

"Everyone starts waking up around six or so and then it's impossible to get in the bathroom without having to fight your way to it. Thought I'd be the one to let you know," he explains, crossing his arms while still idling in the doorway.

I still don't get it fully, but nod anyway. "Right, right. I'll uh-- Do that right now. Thanks."

He leaves, and I stand up with a yawn and a stretch to start my day. I rummage through my newly filled drawers for some underwear and consult my closet for a soft lilac polo shirt and a dark plum pair of pants. I carry my backpack with me, what with all of my toiletries being inside. Shoving a pair of black shoes and socks into my bag, I set off for the bathroom at the end of the hall. It's bright but also dark at the same time as if the lighting knows when day and night are. I pass by the blast door and catch a glimpse of the indigo sky with the promise of bright cerulean in the near future. I hear scampering behind me but no doors open. Must've come from within a room.

Upon arrival, the bathroom is locked. I knock a few times to inspect. The lock turns and the door creaks open, causing me to quickly avert my eyes to prevent from seeing something unholy.

"Quite sorry about that, forgot there was a Sheila here," Sniper apologizes but refrains from closing the door again. My gaze slowly careens over, and I let out a sigh of relief to see a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. 

I take a few steps back and sheepishly laugh. "No no, you're fine. I completely forgot I was _here_ when I- when I woke up, so... Haha, yeah--" I ramble, maintaining eye contact despite my desire to look away entirely. 

"Did you want to use th--" He starts, pointing behind him.

"Oh gosh um-- just finish up, It's fine... I'll, I'll just wait..." 

He lifts an eyebrow at me with a smile that has unknown intentions lying underneath; feeling like the one I brandish that is being forced out in discomfort. "You sure? I can just move my stuff and--"

"Please I insist, take your time." Words fly out of my mouth in a frantic attempt to end this interaction. My body wants me to just belt out into a full-on caterwaul to release this absolute nightmare of the first-hand embarrassment I am spoon-feeding myself, to expel it from the recesses of my mind. We've been standing here for too long. Please, for the love of God, go back into the bathroom Sniper, I would get on my knees if it wasn't attached with the risk of my seeing sights I'm not prepared to see.

"It's not too much of a problem," he says, still somehow being able to look me directly in the eyes and act unbothered. 

Sniper, walk back into that bathroom and close the door, _please._

" _I implore you_ _,_ " I whisper, starting to physically shake from the sheer stress I'm being put under. " _Please, finish up what you're doing. I don't want to impose on your personal time_."

"I sit in a tower by myself all day, all the time is my personal time," he badgers.

I sob gently and cave in due to the complete and utter anguish I am being crushed by. "Yeah... Okay then... I guess I will b-be using the-- Using the bathroom."

He's pleased with the change in response and picks up his clothes and bathroom items, bidding me farewell and closing the door behind him. I rush to lock it and sink to the floor, tears forming in my eyes and my body unable to move from its paralyzed state. Are we seriously going to go about it like this?

After I calm down and find enough scraps of dignity to pay the Motor Function goblin, I cross the bridge of pure unsettling social conflict and make it the wondrous land of This-Will-Totally-Keep-You-Awake-at-Night-and-Will-Negatively-Affect-Your-Relationship-with-This-Person-in-the-Future relatively unscathed, finally standing up and continuing on with my soiled morning. A hot shower isn't enough to wash off the stink of complete humiliation from my skin that was inflicted upon me via peer pressure. My whole body feels as though all warmth has left and all that is left is the husk of a woman who was too weak to give a man his time alone in the bathroom. 

I step out of the shower into cooler air, drying off and preparing for the new day. I somehow manage to almost forget to brush my teeth, noticing a piece of paper taped to the mirror. I pick it up and look at it, a list of names with a good amount crossed off with notes on the side. Times of death?

Sticking it back and leaving it in its previous place, I brush my teeth and wash my face, deciding against makeup altogether if the heat is going to be the way that it was yesterday every day. Upon exit with my items in hand, I'm met with Heavy on the other side of the door, his hand raised to knock. I'm pushed into flight mode and call out "it's all yours!" before zooming down the hall to take cover in my room.

The sun is beginning to peek through the curtains, but the plaza floodlights still remain illuminated. I push the curtains to the side while still being wary of Sniper's warning from before. Assuming he's watching, I wave out the window and step away from it to prepare for later. I have no tools on me besides a pocket knife and a handgun, debating on which one to take with me in case of an emergency. Judging solely on how the others are so lenient with their weapons, I tighten my gun holster to my belt. One glance in the mirror tells me I look sort of stupid, but another tells me I'm just being prepared. 

I pat my gun a few times and ready my mental scape, still shaken by the encounter I had with Sniper earlier. I schlep over to the common room, silently creeping around the corner and sticking by the blast door.

" _Guten Morgen!_ " Medic announces, beckoning me over to sit with him. I stand behind the chair next to him. He looks to be reading the newspaper, a pen in hand as he's browsing the puzzles.

"Good morning," I chime.

He motions for me to sit, but stands up himself and walks over the kitchen counter. "I presume that you slept well?" He asks, more than likely referencing how I basically passed out before dinner.

"Yeah," I reply. "Guess yesterday was a bit of an adjustment."

He keeps his back turned to me as he pours me a good old cuppa joe. Suddenly, I feel relieved. I can't explain it, but the promise of coffee in the wee hours of the morning calms my nerves as it's a ritual I take part in on a daily basis. Medic soon comes back over and sets down my mug, settling down at his place again. 

"Ah, thank you," I softly exclaim, picking up the ceramic cup and blowing gently at the steam emanating off of it. It gives off a sweet smell and has a light brown hue, indicating the sugar and creamer added to it. Pleasure fills my soul before I even get a taste, a homey solution washing away any worries I'm feeling.

"Are you a coffee lover?" Medic inquires, referencing my behavior toward this small gesture.

Something to that effect."

The first slivers of daylight reach into the building to grab us outside and embrace it. I slowly take a sip of the Medic's concoction. I'm pleasantly met with sugar and honey. He grows a grin as I express gratitude for the drink. He picks up his paper again and resumes where he left off, spinning the pen around his fingers. Some voices echo through the halls of the warehouse, Medic reassuring me it can get loud from time to time, _especially_ in the morning. I hear something else amongst the mix, but closer.

"Did you hear that? It was like something running around," I ask, Medic shakes his head without lifting his eyes from his paper. He reiterates the volume problem that occurs this early.

I rise from my seat, mug in hand, and stand out in the golden spotlight. Rays invade my eyes and force me to squint. The conversation from down the hall is becoming clearer as time goes on, a metal clank being the last strike for me. Sighing, I turn around and travel to the barracks, standing unbothered as I watch Scout and Spy scream it out.

"C'mon man! You seriously need to cut the time you spend in there, there's only so much hot water that's available," Scout yells while standing by in his baseball-themed jammies, Spy looking rather annoyed by this confrontation. The younger of the two picking up a deodorant stick that he more than likely threw.

"Boys," I say, taking a long sip. "Can we... not?"

"Boys?" They both spit, directed at me.

"Stop talking so loud, please?"

"Yeah, sure, as soon as Spy stops taking 40 minutes in the bathroom!" Scout continues to yell.

Spy grumbles and picks up his things to leave, Scout still fuming at the fact that nothing was done to reprimand Spy. The french man looks at me and scoffs. "I am _not_ a silly boy."

"I'm sorry, _gentleman_. Let's not get too excited, I just got here yesterday," I groan and apologize, neither of them accepting it and proceeding with their day. Are there just no other bathrooms in this entire facility?

Spy mutters something under his breath, and I can only assume it was a rude remark directed toward me. I take another sip from my mug to keep calm and look over to see Soldier peeking his head out of his barrack door. "Can I help you, Soldier?"

"No Ma'am! I was just keeping watch to make sure they don't start fighting," he says, stepping out into the hallway a bit. It looks as though he had gotten in before the "morning rush," as Engineer put it. Speaking of which...

"Oh, thanks Soldier," I finally say to dismiss him. I think hard and try to retrace my steps from yesterday to navigate back to Engineer's workshop. My internal map has proven to be incomplete, getting me turned around in these samey passageways. Some scratching from the air ducts causes me to stop and look upward. It stops as abruptly as it started. Is there an animal loose in the building?

A hand drops down on my shoulder, and I jump with a gasp. Turning around, I see the man I've been looking for with a soft expression. "Sorry, didn't mean to frighten ya. What're you looking at?"

"It's fine, I'm just a little on edge. First day jitters, I guess. And I'm not quite sure... Thought I heard something."

"Well, the Medic's coffee ain't gonna help too much. Sugar'll only make it worse, getcha all fidgety-like," he jokes, nudging me along with his hand on my back. "What can I do for ya, Miss?"

I perk up. "I was actually hoping you could give me the operations list for this team? Miss Pauling notified me about it, but I completely forgot to ask yesterday."

"Oh, of course," he complies. We walk under the arch and into his workshop, now having a medical lab feel as I have more time to observe. "Feel free to take a look around while I get them for you... Things tend to get lost around here."

He chuckles and gets to searching at his work areas; investigating books and binders as if the files have somehow wormed their way into hiding. I keep taking small sips from my mug while running my fingertips along with the corners of the workstations, trying to make sense of his creations and figure out their purpose. My footsteps echo with the whirs of machines as I make my gallery walk, picking up on small things like Engineer's blatant messy habits. Piles of damaged scrap cower in the corners away from use. Burns sear the jagged edges, holes notify of bullets that tore through and chipped paint crackles at the sign of weather damage. Heaps and heaps of unusable material to me might be spoils and spoils of valuable resources to him.

Several empty food plates are stacked on a stool, the utensils to go with them resting on the very top one. I come upon the breaker boxes; at least five grey-door panels all lined up next to each other and overflowing with cables. Assuming that Engineer knows what he's doing, it would be frivolous to warn him about the dangers of having this many things plugged in. Still rummaging around for the documents, Engineer groans and rubs the top of his hard hat. 

"Something the matter?" I ask.

"Could've sworn I left it in this area, I--" He's interrupted by some clanking and shuffling around the shop. We stand in silence and observe our surroundings. Nothing happens and Engineer chuckles. "Must has been something settling. You know... Medic comes in here often. It's not entirely out of the question that he... What in Sam Hill?"

He goes around me and shifts a cabinet to the side, a blur of motion skittering out from behind it. I try to keep watch of it the best I can, Engineer prompting me to get behind him and brandishing an aluminum pipe wrench. My mug is empty now, becoming my weapon of choice as I ready to sling it at whatever moves. 

Chattering gives away its location, snarling eventually coming out from a hoard of metal. Out jumps a gross little rabbid monster made of complete rage and burning anguish. 

"Bread!" Engineer bellows, pitching his wrench at the demon and pulling me out of the garage. 

"What the hell, that's a loaf of bread?" I grill for information, Spy and Heavy meeting up with us, armed.

"I thought we got rid of all of the bread," Spy snarks, pulling out a revolver from inside his suit.

" _Bread?!_ " I query more aggressively.

"Little shit must've been hiding." Engineer grumbles and brandishes a less lethal-looking monkey wrench. "Go on ahead to Medic's lab, we'll handle this."

I get pushed aside as the three of them advance to deal with the supposed _bread._ I sputter in disbelief and get moving in case that thing somehow gets past them. I'm on high alert with a coffee mug as my tool, wandering around, lost, with a sense of urgency to find the medical lab. I'd assume everyone on this team knows how to deal with possessed rectangles of yeast, so the sooner I find Medic, the better. I just so happen to run into him while rounding a corner.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have the operations file, would you?" I quiz, my mouth moving rather fast because of the shot of adrenaline my body took. "Engineer thinks you might have accidentally picked it up."

"Oh, is that what that was?" He asks under his breath while placing a finger to his chin. "Oh, yes of course. Come with me."

A gunshot rings through the hallways, and Medic turns with a curious look to me. "That? Something about bread, I guess."

" _Why are they fucking crawling out of the vent?!_ " Scout wails off in the distance.

" _Brot?!_ " Medic raises his voice in concern.

I put my hands to his shoulders to stop him from running off to help them. "Heavy, Spy and Engineer are dealing with it, they should be fine. Can I have the papers, though? I really need them."

"I suppose, _ja_ ," he sighs, telling me to stay where I am and jogging to fetch my needed items. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement. My muscles tense up as I try to ignore it. Pitter-pattering draws nearer until I can't ignore it anymore. A tiny blob of yeast and muck happens upon my feet and purrs almost as if it's trying to be a cat. 

I take steps back, and the creature follows, chittering with glee at what it thinks is a game. I push it away with my foot, whining in disgust as my shoe gets covered with the green mucus it emits. It's not a fan of having its cystic exterior being popped, suddenly growling and barking at me. I keep pushing it away until it bites down on my ankle. I have an unexpected meet and greet with the floor, yelling as I slam the thing on the cold tile. My mug shatters. It's somehow still going, leaving me with no other choice than to call out " _ **Bread!**_ "

Medic runs out and gawks at the sight of a hell beast trying to devour me. He runs back into his lab and returns with a scalpel, cutting the monster open in twine and pulling it off my leg. He drops its corpse and the scalpel to help me up, stomping it out a few more times to verify its death. Medic picks up his tool and the limp remains of the bread, commenting on my unwillingness to use my gun.

"Do you like having gaping holes in your feet, Medic?" I sarcastically taunt. He brings me into his lab and has me sit on a gurney despite my assurance of being okay. He hands me the packet I came all the way here for before removing my scum-covered shoe and torn up sock. There's open skin and tender bruising all around my ankle, but they're minor; I hardly feel them. Medic unnecessarily cleans my abrasions and wraps it up with some gauze and bandaging. Upon standing, my balance feels off, and I reach out to use the gurney for support, adjusting to the change this method of bandaging has presented to me. "Can I have my shoe back?"

"Unfortunately, no," Medic apologizes, dropping my footwear into a plastic bag and setting it aside. "I'll have to run some tests on the... _zystischer Kater_ _._ "

I grimace at his wordage and tone. I have no knowledge of his language, but I think I have a vague idea of what he said this time. "Just great." My other shoe is practically useless at the point, so I take it off and decide to brave the world with socks only. I replace my other sock and pick up my papers. "Thanks for the save."

"Oh, my pleasure!" He chirps, some of his doves making their presence known with some calls. Archimedes 2 rests on his shoulder and eyes me from his perch. "Didn't you say there was another bread monster?"

"Yeah?" 

"Dear God, we should go check on them." He throws on his coat and gloves, mounting his Medi Gun to his back. He takes a running start, and I pursue him. My ankle throbs with irritation, but that doesn't slow me down one bit. My steps are slippery because of my footwear choice, or lack thereof. Almost eating it as we take a sharp turn, we're greeted with the sight of charred loaves strewn among the corridors and Pyro trying to wrangle a larger mutated loaf. Is he laughing or screaming? Pyro must be laughing, he seems to be trying to hug the grotesque creation.

"Loaf!" Heavy yells. A loaf flies out of the garage entryway, and Scout runs up with his bat. He grunts in exertion, the sorry thing splatting on the wall as Scout's bat sends it flying with a muffled _"biff"_. He and Heavy high-five in elation as he nails the thing, Medic groaning and stepping cautiously through the carnage.

"Quit that shit right now, son!" Engineer aggressively commands from inside the garage.

"Was anyone injured?" Medic asks, examining everyone from afar as a unanimous "no" sweeps over everyone.

Wading through the sea of grain cadavers, the smell of toast grows stronger. I turn to the masked fire-lover. "Whatcha got there, Pyro?" He murmurs enthusiastically as he shows me his new pet. "Pyro, we're absolutely not keeping that thing."

He hugs it and protests. It writhes in his arms. Engineer and Demoman step out of the garage, covered in grub. Demoman wipes his face and coughs. "Found out that fire kills 'em."

"Yeah, it looks so," I agree. My foot squelches in a sludge puddle and I shudder. "Ope, I'm your new assistant by the way. We didn't meet properly yesterday."

I reach my hand out and shake with Demoman. Some grain guts stick to my hand, and I wipe it off on Medic's sleeve, a scowl forming on his face. I sigh and take a look around, furrowing my brows. "Does anyone have the time?"

"I believe it's eight-thirty or so," Scout pipes up. 

"Good news, guys! We are, in fact, _**not**_ going to start new procedures today," I cheer, deadpan. "The bad news is that we're on clean up duty."

Jeers assault me from all angles, and Pyro loses his grip on his "pet". It shrieks and lounges at me. Without a second thought, I pull my gun from its holster and shoot the beast all in one breath. That startled Engineer and Heavy, the two with their hands up in defense. "As the lady with a gun and your new operations manager, my first official executive decision is for someone to get the rest of the team. We're spending the rest of the day playing janitor, including me."

"You heard her, gentleman," Spy finally says to break the tension. "Get the cleaning supplies and Sniper. We're wasting away the morning."

"I," I sigh while holstering my gun. "I will be putting on some shoes. Heavy, please go get the supplies."

"Okay," he groans while making his exit. I turn on my heels and lose my balance, almost faceplanting once again in food carcasses. I catch myself and turn to everyone in the room.

"No one saw that."


	3. Three: Bullseye's Knock-Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Spy)
> 
> She's trying her hardest, that much I shall give her credit for. Poking about and reminding us of the Director was a bad decision. I simply do not wish to partake in her little survey because there is nothing to "update" about me. I am French. That is all that will ever be available about me. Regardless of that, I want to keep a close eye on her. Something about her rubs me the wrong way. The environment for today provides a great opportunity to conduct a field test to find out more about how she operates.

"Who's first?" I slam my binder down on the table, causing everything on top to shake. Everyone turns around to look at me from where they are in the common area. 

Scout, who's sitting in front of me, points his spoon at me and swallows his food. "Mmm, for what?"

" _Wait, we have cereal?_ " I mutter, Scout nodding but then shrugging to gesture for me to answer his question. "Oh right. Uh, for file update interviews."

"Mind explaining what you're on about, Luv?" Sniper speaks out from the couch, sharpening a moderately-sized sword that I just so happen to be vastly threatened by.

"Since you guys never turn them in- _or even do them for that matter_ -" I snark under my breath, "one of the first things I have to do is update your personnel files for The Administrator. Once again, I'm here to organize you guys."

They all look at one other for any contenders. Sniper scoffs and picks up his blade to look at his reflection. "Is this like what that stupid bloke was doing with Miss Pauling?"

"Who did what now with Miss Pauling?" 

"Bloody director," Sniper snarls.

"Baby man was very annoying. Did not want me to talk about Sasha," Heavy says unprompted, clearly irritated by the mention of this director character. The tone shifts to annoyance. No one looks very willing to volunteer after that, so I make an alternate proposal.

"How about we take on the personal stuff slowly, y'know?" Confusion creeps into the room again. "We'll get to it when you guys are ready to share that kind of stuff."

"Kinda prefferin' we just don't do it at all," Scouts adds, staring into his bowl of milk as he stirs with his spoon. "We've been doing just fine without 'em."

I nod. Of course you've been doing fine without them if you never took upon that responsibility. None of them seem pleased with me even mentioning the paperwork in the first place. Are they ever going to warm up to me? Medic and Engineer have been quite accepting of this change, but Scout, Spy, and Heavy have lost the excitement of possibly getting a new teammate because they more than likely sorted out that I'm _not_ a mercenary like them. Sniper is the one I'm the most unsure about; he's a mixed bag of behaviors, attitudes, and temperament. Our eyes catch up with each other, and he sheathes his blade rather aggressively, picking up his gear and heading for the plaza.

"I'm going for a smoke before heading up," he informs bluntly. Spy follows him out, flicking his lighter in his hand.

It's time for me to go before I unintentionally start something. "Physical evaluations are unavoidable, but we shall plan that for a later date when I consult Medic. I'll be around... Call if you need anything," I quietly but sternly say, shaking my PDA in my hand before clipping it to my belt on the opposite side of my gun.

I turn away, but I can feel their looks piercing into my back like needles. They all observe me from behind as to not alert me of their visual judgment. My composure quickly dissipates as I feel I've gotten far enough away to take a breather. Air rushes in and out of my mouth to slow my heart down, a hand over my chest as if I'm trying to reach in and hold it still. Sinking to my knees, I set my binder down to alleviate my arms. Should I call Miss Pauling? She'd know what to do with them, right? Was this how it was for her when she first started coming into contact with them? I'm so under-prepared for this. Working with _mercenaries?_ What was I thinking; going from a stupid, monotonous office job to fieldwork with a bunch of guys who kill people for a living? I think I'm legitimately brainless for believing this would all go as smoothly as filing paperwork does.

The phone I'm supposed to use to call long distance hasn't arrived in Resupply yet, and I think I'm going to go crazy if it doesn't come in soon. I haven't been able to contact anyone for the past 2 days; I was literally only given a PDA yesterday during the clean up by Engineer for the sole purpose of calling one of them over to deal with bread monsters since I'm seen as useless. My mouth is dry. I swallow hard. I _did_ catch wind of there being a payphone around here, so the only thing left to do is find it. This could prove useful in the long run as I can also map out this entire fort's directory while I'm on the hunt. Obviously, I could just ask them, but it'd be awkward to make a reentrance and ask for something after making an equally odd exit. It'd be best not to bother them anyway, not without consulting Miss Pauling about how to ease my way into having working relationships with them.

Footsteps stop short behind me. 

_Shit. Okay, okay, play it cool._

Turning my head, I see Demoman, scrumpy bottle in hand. "Hey, Demoman," I sheepishly laugh.

"What're you doing sprawled on the ground, lassie?" He rings in his heavy accent, taking me some time to decipher what he asked. 

"I-- I fell," I say, rapidly picking up my things to stand upright again. "It was just taking me a moment to get back up."

He peers at my bandaged ankle. "Medic take a look at ya today?" 

I shake my head, and my ankle magically starts to bother me since it has been acknowledged. "I should get going."

"Where?" He begins to interrogate. 

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know. To explore? I have to find out where everything is eventually." He doesn't look satisfied with my answer. "But I'm going to my room right now to... do... some more unpacking?" I ask myself more than him. It's enough to cause him to take a swig of his bottle and walk past me. 

I can't let my nerves get the best of me just yet and allow me to chicken out on this opportunity. I worked for this position and had Miss Pauling do a lot to convince the Administrator to let me do this, so I can't just waste all of her efforts just because the team and I haven't clicked yet. Have to have a little hope, right? Pathfinding to my room gets easier and easier with each time I do it, which is sort of depressing to admit since I have gone to my room an unhealthy amount of times for two days worth of me being here. Following through on what I said earlier to Demoman is the smart choice, as dumb as it may have been of me to take that one laying down. Assertion apparently no longer exists in my function catalog. I'll look for the phones later, I just need some time to recuperate and collect my thoughts.

A gunshot rings out through the whole building, shaking me to my core. The echoes bring waves of worry over my body. Are we being attacked? Is there a BLU Spy within our ranks? I don't even think twice before dashing off. Where? I don't care. The common room? I turn the corner and see everyone gathered around something in the plaza outside. 

"Guys! Guys, what happened?" I pant as I approach the circle. Heavy and Engineer make a hole to have me take a look at what they're surrounding. 

_A drone._

"Did Sniper shoot it down?" I ask.

Engineer taps the drone with his toe. "I'd like to think so, hasn't come down from his tower to tell us anyth--"

More shots ring out, presumably from Sniper's tower. I cover my ears from the blasts, dropping my binder once again and having papers slide out. Tires squeal from outside the fort's wall, and then a crash ensues. It's quiet for a moment. I remove my hands when I see Sniper step out onto the balcony and lean over the railing. " _Oi! W_ _e've got a bogey!_ "

"Bogey. A bogey, what does bogey mean?" I question as scramble I pick up my things.

"Typically means trouble. Scout, come with me," Spy insists. He looks at me as he passes by. "You, too. Bring the drone. Perhaps there's intelligence inside." I stutter minimal protests, looking around at the rest of the group. I end up shoving my papers into Heavy's hands and lug along the contraption. "I hope you know how to use your gun properly."

"Why wouldn't I?" I scoff, trying to keep up with the two. They're both taller than me by a bit. I'm closer to Engineer's height but still shorter by an inch or two with heels on. 

Spy views my holster and lights a cigarette for himself. "Your gun seems too big for you."

"C'mon Spy, it's just a tiny little handgun," Scout interrupts. "You didn't say anything special about me holdin' a scattergun."

"I mean that as in you look rather inexperienced with a firearm."

I huff and toss the drone up a bit to readjust my grip. "I've only ever shot it two times. Three if we count yesterday. I'm better with melee weapons and short-ranged combat."

"Yeah, we're gonna hafta change that," Scout says. "We pretty much use nothing _but_ guns around here."

"Good to know." We arrive at the entrance, the sentries beeping and turning to us. I flinch, Scout snickering. 

"It does that to everyone, checks for enemy spies," he tells. "Don't sweat it. Unless you're a spy."

I deny being a spy, the sentries confirming as we make it past the curtain. A van with BLU's logo is turned over on the side of the road. Approaching the wreckage, we come across two mercs in the front with bullet flares on their temples. At least we know Sniper is accurate when it comes to moving vehicles. Spy brandishes his revolver, and Scout his scattergun as they go to inspect the back of the van. I stay near the front end and go around to the broken windshield, peering inside at the soldier and medic within. I look down at the drone and realize it's like a robotic head of Spy. Amazing how the entry of the bullet is its eye. Sniper is a force to be reckoned with, that's for sure.

Shaking it a few times, some wires and debris either rattling inside or falling out onto the sand. A vial comes out, and it has a piece of paper inside. I pick it up and store it in my shirt pocket, for the time being, salvaging a few scraps to take to Engineer. The van rustles as Scout starts swearing, punches landing as the victim grunts. 

As I circle around the crash, I happen upon a BLU scout tussling with ours. He's even scrawnier; he's very lanky and totally like a kid even _I_ would have bullied in school... And I was a usual candidate for getting picked on. That's apparently not the case, though since he turns the fight around and starts to whale on Scout, throwing one punch after another. Spy stands by, lighting another cigarette. 

"Are we not going to help him?"

"I'd like to interrogate him." Spy says, taking a drag. 

I shrug. "Then why not stop him?"

"I'd kill the poor fellow if I did. Also, the drone is useless to us here, there's nothing in there. It would be best to surrender it to the laborer."

Spy chuckles. The BLU scout pushes him down and gets on top of him, both of them yelling at each other as it turns into a petty schoolyard fight that's not worth idling by and watching anymore. I sigh and walk up behind the BLU scout. If all scouts act the same, I shouldn't have too much problem with deescalating the situation enough for Spy to interrogate him. I set the robot head down and take my time straightening out my shirt while Scout gets his ass handed to him.

"Excuse me?" I sweetly hum, the opposing mercenary turning to look at me with his hands tightly wrapped around Scout's neck. He wheezes for help, I ignore him. "Could you get off of my friend?"

"Now tell me why I'd do that." I can tell he hails from New York. A Yorker beating a Bostoner senseless. Great. 

"It's just sad seeing him like this," I forcefully mope, Scout coughing and writhing now. "I mean, you've already proved your point."

The BLU scout looks confused. "Point? Was I making a point?"

"I mean, you were trying to prove you're the better scout, right?"

Scout claws at his assailant's arms and his eyes look as though they might-- Nope, they're _definitely_ rolling into the back of his head. BLU scout lets go at the last second, standing up and immediately getting fresh with me. "Why, of course I am! Glad someone finally s--"

I sock him in the jaw and grab his shirt collar, slamming him down on the asphalt next to Scout. He tries to get up, but I stomp on his crotch, making him cry out and shrink into a ball of pity. Scout gasps for air and stands up next to me, beginning to trash talk the other guy and falling from the lack of oxygen to his brain. He eventually has to lean on me for support. 

"Why the _hell_ didn't you just do that in the first place?" He slurs his words slightly as I hold him up with his arm around me. "I could've died."

"I'm trying out new avenues. I'm not the best at negotiating and even worse at acting," I sigh.

" _Then why didn't you beat his ass from the start?_ " Scout reiterates. I roll my eyes.

"To be honest, I would've killed him if I fought him outright, too. I can snap him like a twig."

Spy puts his hand on my shoulder and picks up the other merc by his ankle, the kid still whining. "Scout, stop complaining. It was an interesting approach, to say the least."

He passes out from asphyxiation and becomes a dead weight. I let him fall to the floor as to not be inconvenienced by putting on a few pounds. I sigh and look over to Spy, the Frenchman throwing our new hostage over his shoulders to carry him in. Looking at the drone, and then over to Scout, I'm presented with a predicament. I ask Spy to carry the drone for me and am pleasantly surprised with polite compliance, leaving me to lift Scout from behind and drag him back in with my arms around his chest. He's much lighter than I anticipated for someone of his height to be. I think I might actually weigh more than him.

The skinny bastard.

The back of his shoes skid across the asphalt road and make ruts in the sand. I can't maneuver him around the bush cut out, Engineer needing to lower it and move the curtains for me and my unconscious pal. The sentries have to be deactivated for a short time as we bring the BLU scout in to prevent becoming swiss cheese. Engineer comes out and accepts the drone from Spy, and I hand over the items I collected. Gently laying down Scout on the dirt, I dig through my shirt pocket. My finger grazes the vial but I don't pull it out. Depositing the extra chips and wires with him, I continue dragging Scout back to his room.

This tiny bottle I have feels important, but I don't want to share it with the rest of them just yet. If it's useless information, I'll be brushed off from the action again. If I'm the one managing them, should I not be in the know of current campaigns? However selfish my reasons may come across as, I'll have to work with whatever I can to get to smooth sailing. The journey to the barracks is taxing, eventually resorting to giving Scout's limp body a piggyback ride the rest of the way there. I open his door and groan as I turn my back to the wall, dropping him onto his bed. While moving his limbs around, I realize that he looks a little too _dead_ with his hands over his chest. After readjusting his position, he almost looks like a peaceful baby while he sleeps. Compulsion washes over me, and I find myself removing his shoes, hat, and headset before leaving him. Medic stands in the doorframe without his lab coat and gloves, possibly here to check on Scout.

"Is he dead?" He asks.

Did I even check his pulse? "No?"

Medic does just that and sighs dejectedly. "Could've used _der Dummkopf_ for some truly revolutionary things."

I'm taken aback by his comment. "What do you mean by that?" I cautiously venture.

"Organs aren't cheap you know. I also could've revived him from complete brain death, I haven't done that one before."

Okay so, Medic isn't as normal as I originally thought he was. Suddenly, my brain switches to having him as a mad scientist type as opposed to your typical doctor. He stands and ponders something as he watches Scout slumber. I shake him out of it before he gets any ideas. "Actually, there are two dead BLU mercenaries outside that I'll have to get rid of in a few hours... would that suffice?"

"Oh, let me take a look!" He grows giddy and grabs my wrist to pull me down to his lab. I didn't expect for him to take up my offer so nimbly, giving me a tinge of fear for if he just so happens to find me unconscious and unresponsive. He suits up, bringing along his bone saw, and has me push along an iron cart full of tools and coolers while he takes a gurney with him. 

Miss Pauling would be looking at me like I'm insane for playing around with dead bodies instead of disposing of them. Granted, I could argue that this is a forensic countermeasure so that clean up and burying is a lot easier. Before we can even leave his lab, though, the intercom comes on and some feedback squeaks out. 

"If, uh, the assistant could mosey on over to my garage," Engineer starts out in a worried tone, arguing going on in the background, "that'd be much appreciated. _Just put the tape over his mouth!_ " His voice sounds farther away from the microphone before the feed cuts.

Medic motions for me to go with that same smile from before, still going to go out and get those bodies regardless of my help. I warn him on only taking what he needs so I can get rid of the rest, unsure that he heard anything else other than "body parts." I sigh and make a light jog down to Engineer's workshop, walking in and seeing that the area has been rearranged. Soldier, Spy, and Pyro all stand around the BLU scout who's tied to a chair with duct tape over his mouth. He protests and screams out through his nose. 

"I see we've tapped into our inner interior designer. Love the accent piece," I joke in a low whisper to Engineer, motioning to the captive.

"He said he'd only talk to you, referred to you as _'the pretty one.'_ " He whispers back, glossing over my quip. I glance back at the scout before turning around again. "We had to shut him up since he howls like a wolf on a full moon."

"Hey, Engineer--"

"Please, call me Engie," he chuckles as if we're making casual talk. I blink a few times.

"Engie, am I allowed to hit him?" 

"I don't see why not." He shrugs. 

I take the wrench from his right pocket on his overalls and tap the head of it a few times to gauge its weight. Standing in front of the scout, I tap the wrench a few more times and stare him down. "Could you bring me that chair over there, Pyro?" He drags it over, and I thank him as I sit down. Folding my legs, I carefully remove the tape from his mouth. I put my finger over my lips just as he's about to talk and lean back in my seat. Tapping into my inner Miss Pauling is going to be hard, I'm not as much of a badass as she is. "Now, I'm much better at dealing with dead bodies, so let's hope that I don't make you into one."

"Watcha gonna do with that wrench, hardly think you know how to use one," he snarks. 

I sigh and chuckle. "What I'm going to do with this wrench, pal o' mine, is make you talk. You're used to seeing men like the ones in this room, so they wouldn't be able to get a single word out of you. I'm on a tight schedule, so we're going to do a lightning round for intel."

"Is that so?"

"What was the drone for?" I start abruptly. He smiles and I don't even give him 5 seconds before I slug his knee in with the wrench. A shrill shriek erupts out of him. "I remember mentioning that I'm not very _patient_." 

"Whoa, slow your roll there, sister!" Soldier interjects. "You're supposed to interrogate the maggot before you start torturing him."

"Then I'd suggest you leave if you're going to interrupt me. I still have to bury his buddies by the day is out and get rid of the van so you guys don't get arrested," I huff. 

"Wait they're dead?" The scout cries out in between groans of misery. "You killed them?"

"I'll kill you, too if you don't talk." 

He yells out and struggles against his restraints. "You ain't gettin' nothin' outta me! Ya hear? I ain't talking."

"I don't know why I thought I could get information out of merc," I scoff and blow out his other knee. He screams out again and sobs after the initial hit. "Spy, Solder-- I don't care who, but one of you take him out and then hand him over to Medic. We need this done before nightfall."

"Don't ask him any other questions, I presume?" Spy takes a drag of his cigarette. 

"If he has dying words, let me know." I hand Engineer his tool back and leave the garage. Running through my list of tasks; I need to:

  * Retrieve the remains from Medic
  * Dismember what is left
  * Take out their teeth
  * Burn off their fingerprints
  * Secure a ride out into the desert
  * Dig shallow graves
  * Dump the scraps
  * Bury them
  * And make it back to clean off my tools and burn the clothes I'm wearing right now.



I'm sure Engineer will take their van in for scrap, and we could change the plates and repaint the side. "Wait!"

The scout calls out, and I turn around. He looks at me and keeps moving around as they try to load him onto a hand truck to keep him in restraints. I place my hands on my hips. "Make it quick, my guy still has to take your organs before I can even begin with you."

"These mercs have no problem throwing ya to the dogs," he snickers, sounding delusional. "Watch your back, they soon won't know who's doin' the stabbing to who. It'll almost be like a _spell_ was cast on them."

"Weirdo," I express. He starts giggling, keeping it low and sinister until Soldier snaps his neck to make him shut up. "Make this quick, men. I don't have all day."


	4. Four: Fuel to the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Pyro) 
> 
> :)

For good measure, I dump in some deceased bread cadavers so the coyotes will have more incentive to clean house. It's a bumpy ride, making my attempts at finalizing this job harder. Criticizing Heavy's driving would be fruitless as off-roading in a delivery van isn't the easiest thing to do, I'm sure.

I nick myself with the cigarette butt for the third time, zoning out of the pain as I sear away the prints on this hand. Demoman sits on the bench along for the ride, being my source of cigarettes as I don't smoke myself. I hand it back to him and have him take a few drags before giving it back to me to finish up the pinky of what I think is the scout's hand. 

"Thank you," I hum, putting out the cigarette by rubbing it against some bloody flesh and dropping the hand back into the garbage bag. I place the butt into a separate bag filled with teeth that I'll incinerate with Pyro when it comes time to also dispose of my clothing. The van slows down, and Heavy opens the door that leads to the driver's seat. 

"We are here." 

"Lovely," I say, standing up and opening the back doors at the rear of the vehicle. It's pitch dark and the stars above make a dazzling showcase as there are no lights nearby to interrupt their display. Crickets silence themselves as I step out of the van. Demoman helps me drag out the three large trash bags that contain the scraps of our BLU guests. I grab the shovel I brought along and start digging in front of the van so the headlights can illuminate where my spade lands. I don't go too far down into the cracked sand, just about a foot or so, and make the length that of an average coffin. I drag the bags and open them up, dumping food particles and flesh into the holes to fill it up. It smells very unpleasant, like lard from meat that's been deep-fried in grease. Demoman idles by, observing my urgency and concise actions.

"Ye dae this often?" He asks while watching me spray cooking oil over the mound. 

I light a match and throw it into the pit, watching the fire wave take over. I turn to look at him with the fire illuminating one side of my face. "If Miss Pauling mentioned that she was doing it, I'd come along for the ride."

"How?" He asks, and I twist my face.

"It's a necessary skill to learn," I start shoveling sand back over the hole as the meat and yeast have cooked enough to start smelling appealing to nearby scavengers. "Some people just have to disappear to make your life easier. In this case, I'm making life easier for you guys. You're not exactly a favorite with the locals."

"Lassie, we figured as much," he declares. "I just dinnae get how you're so comfortable with doing all of this."

I drive the spade into the ground and look over at him. "Aren't _you_ comfortable blowing people up for a paycheck?" He remains silent and frowns with furrowed brows. "It's only a small portion of what my job entails, Demoman. You don't worry about what happens to them once they're dead, but I do. I have to. I'm the one who has to cover for you and make these guys untraceable."

We eye each other for a few moments until I start digging again, the sand putting out the fire. I'd really prefer it if he stopped talking. "Dinnae it bother you, lass? Erasing these men without a proper send off to their family?" 

I pat the top of the sand. "No. I stopped caring." I wipe my forehead and feel blood smear onto it. "So has Miss Pauling. So should you."

He must've never thought about how Miss Pauling deals with it as he looks surprised that I even mentioned her. I sit up front next to Heavy, and Demoman sits in the back once again. I open the door behind me and ask him to close the bag of teeth in the event they spill over, his reluctancy showing as he tries to touch the bag as little as possible. It was a three-hour ride out, and I don't intend on being awake the entire time again because the disposal process has to be finished _tonight_. 

_No matter what,_ Miss Pauling's voice rings in my head from the first time I dumped a body with her, _Always finish your job in one go. Don't save it for later, because you will 100% forget something and get yourself caught._ That was only a few months ago. Only a few months ago did I stop being squeamish about handling dead bodies.

I strap on my seatbelt and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes to rest up for later. I'm awoken by Heavy slamming the fridge door in the garage. "Get out of van."

Unclicking my seatbelt, I stumble out the van as I forget how high up it was from the ground. I open the back and pick up my tools, along with the bag of teeth. Engineer shudders when he sees me, pointing to my forehead to reference my bloodstain. 

"I have to incinerate this stuff, do you guys have a fire pit?"

"Ask Pyro, he might have his own little spot. You should wash up, though."

"I will," I say, picking up my shovel. "Right after I burn these teeth along with my clothes."

"Aw hell, your clothes, too? Sounds like a waste."

"Especially your clothes," I chime, patting the side of his face with a bloody hand. He flinches. "I'll light up like a Christmas tree if I get sprayed with Luminol, Engineer!" 

"Didn't I already tell you to call me Engie?" 

I shrug. "Yeah... It just doesn't feel right. We're not close like that yet."

He sighs dejectedly. "Well, the drone had a camera inside of it, but that's standard stuff. I tried snooping in its code, but it got wiped when Sniper shot the damn thing. Their van didn't have anything worthwhile inside, so I'll just recycle the parts."

"Good, good." He smiles at me, almost as though he's expecting something. I smile back at him and shake my magical bag of mouth bones. He groans.

"You should... get rid of that."

"I'll talk to you later, Engineer." I pat his shoulder, more shudders of disgust coming from him as I venture to collect Pyro. I pass by Sniper in the halls while he's on his way to his tower, a rather nasty glower catching me off guard as he shoots it my way. Spy also completely ignores me as I greet him when entering the locker room. As far as I'm concerned, no one does any changing in here, so it should be fine for me to enter. Confused, I approach Pyro and find a similar thing happening with him. He doesn't express any positive gestures upon seeing me but still agrees to help me with my evidence-tampering procedure since it greatly involves fire. I tell Pyro to set up near Sniper's tower on the far end of the compound. He searches his own locker and takes a box full of matches, a jerry can, and the shovel I handed him so he can dig the pit. We both exit and travel to the main plaza outside.

I make a detour and go into my room to get a change of clothes. My binder rests on my bed, meaning Heavy came by to drop it off for me. The vial I had in my front pocket comes out, and I examine the bottle. It's about the length of my palm and has a screw cap to conceal the paper inside. Upon opening, unrolling the paper reveals a chemistry formula, " _CHCl₃_ ". I don't know about chemistry, I only know chemical compounds by their common name. The first 2 elements are Carbon and Hydrogen, but that's the extent of my knowledge. Even if I knew what that last element was, I'd highly doubt I'd just so happen to know what it yields. Is it a corrosive agent? Or maybe an explosive? I'd have to ask either Demoman or Engineer about this, either one of them _has_ to know. Maybe Medic if the opportunity arises, but I don't think he deals with chemical equations too often.

I'll worry about it later, I have to get rid of a few things first. I stash the paper in the bottle once more and then hide it at the very bottom of my underwear drawer, picking out a pair while I'm here. I have to be quick, so I grab some plain pajama pants and a tank top to throw on. Rushing to the bathroom, I try to take as quick of a shower as possible, knowing Pyro isn't the kind to wait around. Speeding through a full-body biohazard wash, I dry most of myself off and redress. The burn marks on my fingers tingle slightly. I decide against rewrapping my ankle wound. It'll have to air out eventually, and it looks at though it's started the healing process. My hair is wetter than I'd like, but that is on the bottom of my list of worries. Slipping on some sandals, I scoop up my old clothes and pick up the bag of teeth from my room, finally arriving at the fire that Pyro has started. He pokes it around with a stick, the tip of it eventually catching a flame and Pyro having to dig it into the dirt to put it out.

Dropping my items into the fire, Pyro haphazardly throws more gas on it, the inferno roaring and flaring up at the addition of fuel. He laughs some and watches the blaze in awe. It's like doing laundry, disposing of bodies; covering the suspicious means of people's disappearances is a never-ending cycle until you die or until you stop needing clothes. The fabric is turned to ash within 5 minutes, but the teeth still stand. I knew I should've blended them first. I sigh and tell Pyro to put it out, a loss of glee taking over him. He reluctantly pulls out a fire extinguisher and deploys the white foam, the flames getting weaker and weaker until they die. He begins to return the dirt to its place of origin, and I stand by so then I get the confirmation from him that it's done. Medic comes out and observes Pyro with me.

"Pleased with your harvest?" I start. 

"Oh, _ja_ , very much so!" He rubs his hands together with a smile. "I was able to salvage much more than I originally thought."

"What are you going to use the parts for?"

"Progress," he purrs, his rolling R's pleasing to the ears. It didn't answer my question, but I don't prod too much.

Pyro finishes up and hands me my shovel back, the three of us going back inside and closing the rollup door. Medic secures the chain and slaps on a padlock on the floor to keep it from opening. It makes me wonder about how Sniper gets back inside to get food and use the bathroom in the morning. The doctor hands me his copy of the key for the padlock, claiming he very rarely wakes up early enough to unlock it anyway despite him being up before me yesterday and today. I shrug and slide it into my pajama pocket, thinking about what to do next. I have to check in on Engineer to see how he's going to go about repurposing the truck, but I also haven't gone to see Scout all day. I'm assuming he'd be asleep now, but I go to check anyway, my footsteps echoing throughout the hallways and the open area of what I've picked up as being called a _control point_.

I knock a couple of times and call out for him, knocking again and almost singing his name the second time. Entering anyway, he still looks the same as when I left him. I glide across his room and gingerly place my fingers on his neck, expressing relief when I feel his warmth and heartbeat. He groans and opens his eyes, looking up at me and pushing my arm away.

"Sniper already came in here to make sure I was alive, you can go," he spits.

" _Wow, okay. You're welcome for dragging you all the way back to your room and dumping bodies for you well past midnight, Scout,_ " I murmur. He turns over toward the wall. I glance around his room, a college frat dorm vibe. Posters of various baseball players line his wall, a few smaller photos of pinup models tucked away on the back wall of his desk. A mitt sits on his nightstand, a baseball resting in the glove. A book on his desk is opened to an unfinished drawing that looks... Like Miss Pauling? I'll give him props, he's pretty good at art... Not so much at calligraphy, though. A looseleaf sheet of paper has various vocabulary words scribbled on it, many being repeated time and time again in an attempt to improve. I've done enough snooping. "Good night, Scout."

"Go fuck yourself."

_Ouch_.

Why is everyone being so mean all of a sudden? I furrow my brows and close the door behind me. It's super late anyway, and I don't want to bother anyone else for tonight. I still have to check on Engineer. I suppose I don't now, though, seeing him approach me. "You gettin' to bed?"

I nod. "Yeah, was just checking up on Scout before heading in."

We walk down the end of the hall to my room, me making the realization of Engineer being my neighbor. "Well, see ya when the sun ri--"

"Wait-" I place my hand on his gloved forearm as he reaches for his doorknob. It's lumpier than I thought it would be. He brushes my hand away. "Did you get rid of the license plates? From the van, I mean."

"Sure did," he laughs. "Gonna use it for some scrap to fix my sentries."

"As long as it no longer resembles a license plate."

"How're you holding up?" He asks, turning to me to hold a conversation.

I think for a second, failing to mention the abrasive attitude of some of the mercenaries. "Okay, I guess. I wasn't expecting bread monsters, and I certainly wasn't expecting to do a cover-up job by myself this soon. I'm getting a bit stir crazy since none of my supplies have been delivered yet; kinda need to check in with Miss Pauling eventually, y'know?"

He nods. "Supply delivery comes in either tomorrow or the day after, maybe your things will come in then." He speaks in a low tone as though the shipment schedule is a secret and that I don't need to know it anyway. "Well, I reckon you hang your hat. We'll only have 3 hours or so to sleep."

I groan and huff, patting his shoulder to send him off. "Good night, Engineer."

"Goodnight Irene," he chuckles, waiting for me to close my door before he enters his own room. Irene isn't even my name. I sigh and close my curtains, crawling into my bed face-down and quietly releasing a deadpan yell into my pillow. I'm devastatingly exhausted, and it's only been _three_ _days_. And I _still_ have to work out a compromise to start filling out my duties with the amenability of the mercenaries. I'm going to have to take charge tomorrow, I'm sure. Butting heads with them is inevitable, but I can't try to avoid it by allowing them to tread all over me. Getting under the covers, mental burnout shuts down my body and renders me _zonked_. 

"Oh, you're here," Miss Pauling's voice echoes inside my head. "Took you long enough. Did you forget how to operate a phone?"

The apartment I shared with her manifests around me and builds her to sit on the couch, tapping the seat beside her. I plop down next to her and fold my arms. "No. I just can't yet."

"Bummer." She reaches next to herself and picks up a coffee mug. "Need any help with dealing with them?"

"No. You're just my inner conscious. You'll only construct a system of thoughts that will most definitely make no sense when I wake up."

She hesitates before shrugging with a complacent smile. "I guess I don't blame you. Was worth a shot."

I try to relax into the couch, but it oozes liquid that has a slightly thicker consistency than water. I grimace and reach to touch it. My backside and hands are covered in it, dripping off my fingers and leaving residue. It smells sort of awful.

"Miss Pauling, what is this?" I ask as I stand up. She folds her legs and takes another sip of coffee.

"It's cooking oil," she calmly informs. "You should probably wake up, cooking oil is always a bad thing to get poured on you while you're sleeping."

I'm pretty sure it's bad if you get it poured on you at _any_ time. "Hold on, I ki--"

"No, I mean it. Go check it out. It'd be really embarrassing if you didn't listen to your basic survival instincts right now just so you could talk to a manifestation of your logical thinking. As flattered as I am, you need to get going. I'll see you around Miss Fredrickson. Hopefully."

"Hopefully?" My eyes crack open but close again immediately as more oil splashes onto my cheek. I can't move. My breathing hitches as I hear another bottle unscrewing, my eyes darting everywhere for anything I can recognize. I chirp out inaudible noises, trying to call out to whoever it is. Someone, I need help, please. Stop doing this.

My body won't do anything I'm telling it to. I can't feel anything but the oil running down my face and my soiled clothing against my skin. Why is this happening? Who is doing this to me? I try to open my mouth, even more oil rushing in and making me gurgle in an attempt to expel noise. I close my eyes in fear of getting anything in them, feeling tears form behind my eyelids. I'm tempted to start crying. Maybe then someone could hear me. I try to use all of my energy to kick my wall to create noise but I'm not able to manage that. I'm paralyzed, and I'm going to die. 

The last of the oil drips onto my bed and gloved fingers drag across my eyelids. I slowly open my eyes and breathe as shallow as I can to keep from clogging my nose and filling my lungs. The only movement my body spares me is shivering as the cold settles into my skin and adrenaline pours into my bloodstream to try and get me to do something. My heart feels heavy and like I can't get enough air, I don't even remember where I am.

The gloved hand casts over my eyes again, making sure I'm able to see. I start to huff faster, sobs barely making themselves known as I finally get my jaw to unlock. A hazy figure stares at me, muffled breaths alerting of their presence. I try to call out to them. They close my mouth manually. I can't open it anymore. They pat my cheek softly with thick gloves and wipe matted hair away from my face. Oil droplets run down my forehead. The figure steps away from me and leaves my room. Vapors burn my nostrils. My chest feels emptier and emptier by the minute, making room for all of the sheer terror that I can't liberate by screaming. Footsteps wander back into my room, and my tear ducts begin to burn as tears flow out of my eyes. 

I hear squeaking and metallic scratches. I smell gas. A blue flame appears in the darkness, hardly illuminating anything around it. I stare at it, unsure of what else to look at, seeing nothing but destruction and terror pouring in the air. Tears flow faster. Drool accumulates in my mouth. The scratching returns and the flame disappears. Shuffles happen around my room and the squeaking of rubber boots is accompanied by that. The figure lowers their head to look at me again. I shake even more. My body is weary. I'm spent. 

Aggressive scritching until an orange flame bursts into existence. 

_Please, put it out._

The light moves farther away from me until it stops in the middle of the room. It rises up to the face of my tormenter. A reflection comes off the goggles of a gas mask. Pyro.


	5. Five: Just Sitting Around and Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Scout)
> 
> I have my own suspicions on the new chick, but she seems fine. I don't think she'll think too much of me if I don't say sorry for what I said to her when she was checking up on me. It was just a slip of the tongue, I swear! Sniper was talking some crap about her and then I end up taking out that anger on the person I was defending. Sounds just like me, doesn't it? Hope I don't screw the pooch on this one, she might actually go out on a date with me if I play my cards right. I've just gotta get on her good side. If that doesn't work, I've always got Miss Pauling.

The water pools at my feet, swirling down the drain and taking the filth along with it. My eyes stay trained on the floor tiling. 

_Last night couldn't have been real_. 

I feel cleaner, but that doesn't necessarily mean better. I woke up completely drenched from head to toe in canola oil. The freakier part is that I remember seeing Pyro holding a match. What happened after that? There's just no way in hell. Maybe I just sleepwalked and dreamed up all of that crazy stuff, but there is absolutely _no way_ that Pyro was about to set me ablaze. What did I ever do to him to cause him to act like that? Pyro definitely has enough self-restraint to not torment his teammates in the dead of the night.

Does he at least not consider me one? That sucks if that's the case. Hurts to think about, that I'm not considered a colleague. There's a reason not to blame him as I don't feel like a teammate, either. I turn the faucet until the water stops flowing and run my fingers through my wet hair. I get spooked by a figure on the other side of the glass. The door is fogged up, so I wipe it with my hand, the figure vanishing from sight. I shudder and cover myself with my towel, unsure of what just happened. Am I seeing things? I'm being absolutely crazy. Did the shrink the Administrator send me to miss something? I am, for sure, going nuts. The rudeness, I can deal with. The blatant murder-vendetta? At the very bottom of my Christmas wishlist. I'm unsure if I want to continue working here. It'd be such a waste of time and could stain my record if I quit so early. Is the resumé padding really worth more than my safety? I'm pretty sure I die if I quit anyway. There's no winning in this situation, is there?

_It had to have been just a nightmare._

I exit the shower and shudder in the chill. I don't feel like I'm alone anymore. I try to get dressed as quickly as possible, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. It makes me feel grimy again, on the inside rather than the outside. The kind that you can't wash off. I'm not bothered by being exposed, not as much as the next person. It's more of the fact that the bathroom is supposed to feel safe and private. I stare in the mirror as I brush my teeth, observing the tile walls behind me to look for any discrepancies. I can't tell if I'm being cautious, borderline paranoid, or both. I spill some water on my slacks and the toe of my oxford heels. I groan, drying it off the best I can, left with darkened spots that'll take a while to fade. Upon exiting, Soldier makes me jump with a yelp as he slams his door open and sounds off with the most aggressive " _ **Good Morning!**_ " I will ever bear witness to. He begins to hum Reveille equally, if not more, aggressively. 

My old clothes flop onto the floor. I hastily attempt to pick up before Soldier has the chance to comment on it, but his bare foot lands on my t-shirt, a squelch emanating from the oil leaving the fabric. I look up and see his hyper-widened bug eyes glowering from under his helmet. Does he sleep in the thing? He simply has on a muscle shirt and boxers right now, so why would he put on his helmet while on his way to go wash up?

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" He roars. Hey, why not a little louder? I don't think Sniper was able to hear you from his tower. "Why would you be _clothed_ when you're lubing up for war?" 

"What." I squawk.

"Everyone knows that you have to be _naked_ when rearing up for a skirmish! I personally prefer honey, but oil works just as well."

My jaw hangs in awe. Is this a conversation I'm having right now? I better say something. "Oh, it was just a test run! I'm not sure what I want to use... for battle y-yet. Uhm... Can I have my shirt back?"

He lifts his foot and watches me pick up my things. "If you ever need suggestions, I have tried various techniques and methods for optimal warfare combat. Vegetable oil is for _beginners,_ and I'm sure you're too advanced for that."

"I'll-- I'll keep your offer in mind... Thank you, Soldier."

Picking up my clothes, I walk as fast as I can to my room before anyone else comes out of theirs. What am I supposed to do with this? I could always do laundry if I somehow find said laundry room, but I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. I only know my way around one wing of the first floor to the main compound, all of the said information being useless as this is the main hub of where all the action happens anyway! I'll have to stash it away for now out of hiding until the opportunity to deal with it comes through.

My mattress is gone. They stole my mattress, I can't have _shit_ in this fort. My bed frame is now depressingly bare, and I feel as though the last few marbles I still had have been stolen away with my mattress. Where the hell am I going to sleep? As awful as this all sounds, I can't linger on it for too long. I'll figure something out eventually. Grabbing a paper bag that has been running loose in my backpack for centuries, I shove my clothes inside and stow it away in my closet. This mystery keeps getting more and more complex by the minute. Which reminds me...

I open up my underwear drawer and peer inside. Everything looks to be in order. I dig my hand in and feel the cold glass of the vial, right where I left it. I sigh and close my drawer. It'd be best to avoid coming back here for a while so no one walks in to see... this. There's still oil smears on the floor and partial footprints, certainly not enough of one to try and match it up with someone's shoe. Collecting my papers and PDA, I seal off my room and pray no one goes snooping. Pyro stands by the bathroom door, eyeing me from down the hall. My heartbeat speeds up, and I swallow hard.

"Good morning, Pyro," I say, my voice wavering as I speak. He stands motionless for a time before walking off. I stand, alone, in the corridor as his footsteps echo, squeaks coming from his rubber boots. 

A phone call to Miss Pauling wouldn't hurt right about now.

Soft clattering comes from within Engineer's room, hinting at the fact it just might be as messy as his work station. With nervousness still fresh on my tongue, my body shivers slightly as I knock on his door. The clattering grows louder, his voice popping out in a dejected tone. He mutters to himself all the way to the door, brightening up some upon opening up. He carries slight body odor and his clothes still have grease stains and creases.

"Were you up all night?" I blurt out, his temper changing slightly. I groan at myself. "Eh, I'm sorry. I believe a proper 'good morning' is in order?"

"A good morning to you, too." He takes his hardhat off and rubs his head. Wasn't expecting an egg under there but that's what I've been given. I can't help but crack a smile despite it being mean, but he smiles, too. "It's alright, everyone's a tad surprised when they first see it. And to answer your question, I was."

"Aren't you tired?"

"Nothing a little coffee can't fix. What can I do ya for?" 

" Do you check the resupply bay every day?"

"Hey, slow down there, jitterbug. I oughta make sure you're the first to know, sound good? I gave you that PDA for a reason. And trust me, you'll _know_ when it gets here."

I take a deep breath and nod. " Yeah, I understand. It's been difficult getting started with you guys, so any advancement I can manage is fine by me." 

"Sorry for how disorganized we seem and putting you through the trouble of being our keeper," he apologizes, shaking his head. "To be honest, we're not the--"

I place my free hand on his hard hat and take it from it, dropping it back on his cranium. "Don't worry about it too much, Engie." He grins when I use his nickname and fixes his headwear. "I wanted this job, so I'm going to help you guys however I can."

"Much obliged for the assist, partner."

"Pleasure's all mine," I say back, horribly emulating a Southern Belle. He's amused by it- at the very least- and gives me a small laugh.

"I should... Go make myself decent," he declares quietly, politeness in his tone with his thumb pointing behind him. "I'll be seeing you."

"Bye, Engie." He closes his door and rummages around his room a bit more, and I decide it's time for me to go. Scout emerges from his room next to me with a drawstring bag in his hand as I pass by. He furrows his brows when he sees me, and I slow down a few paces to greet him before continuing on. It's too early to get into a spitting match, but I don't want to be rude, either. Scout seems to be the kind to have a bit of a morning temper. He scoffs and trails not too far behind me.

"Hey, wait up." He breaks the silence, and I turn around to face him. "Listen, I'm, uh, sorry for _cursing at you like that._ "

He gets quiet on the last part and gives me a hesitant smirk. This is a refreshing change of pace. "It's fine. I would also be a little pissed at something like that. I should apologize to you."

"So... we're even?"

"I'd like to think so, yes."

"Good, good. I got worked up after something Sniper told me, and I took it out on you. But I find it kinda hard to stay mad at certain people."

I laugh wryly. "A mercenary who can't hold grudges?" 

"I try not to keep any on my work buddies," he clarifies. "It'd be bad if I killed my dog handler."

"Ah," I respond, his wording causing me to tilt my head in confusion. Oddly enough, that sparks my memory. "Well, unless Miss Pauling already told you guys, I should notify you of your current termination."

"Yeah, she mentioned something like that. She said you'd keep us posted on the details of that."

"Well, she was right. If you guys want your termination to end, you're going to have to cooperate with me, okay? That goes for the rest of the team, too. We don't have to be best buds or anything, but I'd prefer you guys to be a little less hostile toward me? I can't do my job effectively if I'm confined within a negative work environment." 

He shrugs. "If it means I get to work again, I think I can manage."

I hatch an idea. "Could you do me a favor?" The corner of his lips turns upward in uncertainty. "I need you to tell everyone to make their way to the locker ro--"

"Spawn point," Scout cuts me off to correct me. 

"...The spawn point. Got it. Can you gather everyone to the... _spawn point_ so I can debrief you guys on what needs to happen for you to receive more contracts? I'll go collect Medic, just make sure that everyone in the common room or isn't up yet makes their way over."

"Got it!" Scout nods in agreement. I smile at him and turn away, only to be brought back by an escalating note. "Aaaactually, hold on. We have two of them. Which one are we going to?"

"Uhm... the closest one? I'm not very accustomed to the layout just out. It's near Engineer's workshop, I know that much."

"Gotcha, gotcha. I just have to get ready first."

"Do it quick. I want to get you guys back in action as soon as I can."

I tap my knuckles on my binder and turn away from Scout, making smooth navigation to Medic's lab on my first try. I call for the German man a couple of times as I gingerly wander inside. Doves sit all around the room, perching relatively close to the ground to indicate they're comfortable. I click my tongue a few times to see if they would react. They don't past extending their necks and peering at me head-on, looking rather silly when using binocular vision. There are no cages in sight, so I can only assume they're allowed to fly freely around the clinic at will. Considering how closely related doves are to pigeons, that's very unsanitary. A lovely little bunch they are, regardless. The building rumbles slightly and a horn blares from somewhere outside the building. Is that the resupply Engineer was talking about?

Whirring echoes from somewhere within the lab and the avians flock behind me, their wings beating and pushing strong waves of air in their wake. Some of them make a sound that almost sounds like laughing among landing. " _Beruhige dich! Dein Vater ist zurück!_ "

Medic murmurs German baby-talk to his birds, stepping out from behind a partition and looking up at me with surprise when he sees me. Giving a lop-sided beam and a sheepish titter, Medic straightens up and regains his more professional composure. Archimedes 2 rests in his usual spot on the doctor's shoulder. "How can I help you?"

"I needed to speak with you about getting physicals done to end the current termination of contract intake," I inform. "The Administrator doesn't want you guys keeling over on jobs due to something completely unrelated to the task on hand."

"This, I can do. Would you be present for these?" 

I snicker crudely. "I have to be. Trust system and other corporate policies that I don't want to get into."

"I hope you'd know that they'd have to--"

"Believe me, I know," I dryly say. "I'm a big girl, I can handle it. As long as we keep this professional, I can handle it. So, are we in agreement that we can get these done?"

" _Ja_ , this is possible."

"Good. Right now, we should be heading to the locker ro-- Spawn point," I catch myself. "I'm going to be giving a debriefing on current conditions and the checklist to get your temporary ban lifted."

Medic looks past me and uses his hand to beckon a new tertiary person in. "Oh, Pyro. _Bitte komm herein._ "

My lungs seize up and my fingers tighten around my binder. It suddenly gets harder to breathe, my nostrils burning and my eyes straining as it feels as though they might pop out. Pyro. 

Caution fogs up my mental landscape. Dubious thoughts dance around in my head in a waltz of worry and turmoil. Certainly, nothing bad would happen to me with Medic here as a witness. A fire has no self-control, though. A blazing inferno doesn't pick favorites and that means that Medic could very much so be collateral damage. Did I truly see Pyro about to light me up like a birthday candle, or am I just putting too much faith into what could've been a very vivid dream that I carried out myself through the power of sleep-walking?

I turn to face him, his attention focused solely on me. I swallow hard. "Hiya, Pyro."

Pyro makes muffled speech from behind his gas mask, and the abrupt action causes me to physically recoil my head back. Ripe in astonishment, I furrow my brow as I fail to understand what is being said to me. My eyes veer over to Medic for assistance, but he just shrugs with a smile. "That's our cue to leave I presume."

Not wanting to waste any more time, I breeze past Pyro and start speed-walking down the hall toward the bustle of voices that echo in the hallway. Scout stands against the door frame and follows me in to sit down on one of the benches. Everyone settles down some upon my entrance, a few of the men at their respective mudroom locker to deposit or withdraw their items of choice. With a sigh, I set my binder down on a bench that's on the farthest part of the room from everyone else. Choosing some papers and reading off a few lines to make sure I have the documents in order. 

"Good morning, gentleman!" I proclaim with a moderate amount of politeness. I receive only one "good morning" back from Soldier. "Before we start, I'd like to ask for any preliminary questions that are not to do with this briefing."

Sniper lifts his hand slightly to get my attention before dropping it again. "Not to be a wanker or anything, but I for one think of someone to be a bit of a mongrel if they don't introduce themselves."

"D-Did Miss Pauling not tell you guys who I was?" I get mixed answers consisting of both yeses and noes.

"So we just didn't know my name this entire time?" A unanimous yes shines through. I squeeze the bridge of my nose in between my thumb and index finger.

"I pinned you as an 'Irene', to be truthful," Engie confesses, explaining why he said what he did last night. I put on a stoic face while clenching my teeth. "It seemed fitting."

"Glossing right over that one, my name is Miss Fredrickson for those who didn't catch it the first time." Sniper's eyes are obscured by his aviator sunglasses as the light reflects off of the lenses, but I can tell he's not pleased with my "lack" of manners. No, no. He has a point, I should've reiterated who I was upon meeting them face to face. I can't do much to change that now. "Okay, let's get straight to the point. All of your contract requests have been denied because of your lack of organization. Your files and reports are tremendously backed up, and the Administrator absolutely despises the fact that she doesn't have up-to-date information. The objective is to get the basic reviews out of the way to that you'll be able to get back into the action and paid again, got it?"

"How does that happen?" Heavy asks, slowly rotating Sasha (I think that was her name? There was a lot of information thrown at me that day).

"Personnel evaluations and medical forms are our top priorities. I'll handle the rest of the work for you guys, it's what I'm here for. Medic has already agreed to get physicals squared away in the near future, but evaluations will take a tad bit longer. The feeling of money in your hand, though, is very close if you don't push back on any of the guidance I'm giving you."

I take a deep breath from the sheer amount of instruction I've given. Soldier looks to be the only one confused, his position of attention declining in integrity and his back slouching. "Questions?"

"I'd like to know when we're starting all of this," Spy lights himself a cigarette. 

"Right after we're done here," I answer. "Any other questions?" 

Soldier looks as though he's still as a loss. "Soldier? Anything?"

"Nope. I am doing _outstanding!_ "

" _Uh-huh,_ " I skeptically hum. "Nothing else? Good. Who wants to update their file with me first?"

A pin drops, and I can hear it. The barrel of Heavy's gun clicks as he continues to turn it. I sniff and eye a few of them, their pupils darting away from my own. Pyro stares at me. A strained chuckle escapes me. "I'll just choose then."

"Fine. Heavy will go," Heavy speaks up, slight vexation in his voice. " **Чем быстрее тем лучше**. Make note that I do not like you."

"Well, hold on there, Heavy," Engineer pipes up. I can already smell a conflict arising. "You'll have to help move the bigger things from the shipment."

"Shipment's here?" I gab. We all let the fact that Heavy said he doesn't like me go.

They both ignore me. "Why not use big machine to do work?"

"Guys, we can multitask. I don't want to interrupt your daily routines, so I'll just be idling by on the side. You'll still have to communicate with me, though," I jump into it and click my pen a few times as I speak. "Actually, here, let's do this."

I turn around and open up my files, picking out more documents and pairing up papers. Hesitating on doing this, I ultimately walk to the other side of the room and start handing out everyone's respective sheets but Engineer's and Heavy's since I plan on getting them squared away first. "On a different sheet of paper, I am going to trust you guys to start filling these out _truthfully_ and _honestly._ "

"That's a redundant phrase," Spy snaps. 

"Which means that I want it done that way. Obviously, I'm going to have to review what you fill out and I may bother you again to fix up some loose ends, but it'll get done much faster. Does that sound fair?"

"Isn't that against the rules, Sheila?" Sniper asks, still scanning the paper in front of him. 

I nod. "Oh, no, totally! I absolutely could get fired for this. There's so many security risks in doing this. I'll just rewrite everything you guys say to sound like I did it, though. I'm being flexible here."

Scout reaches to hand me his form back. "I'm uh-- not the best with words."

"Just say you can't read, Scout," Engineer suggests in a joking manner, earning a few laughs from around the room. 

"Shut up! I can read... just, just not very well. And my handwriting is really bad anyway, so I'll just save you from trying to understand it. You know what, I'll just go with you three."

"I dinnae write straight, lass," Demoman slurs slightly as he passes his paper to Scout to hand to me. "I'll be joining ye, as well."

Soldier finally cracks and shoves my papers back in my face. "Paperwork is not my strong suit."

"Then you're on resupply duty," Engineer orders. "Highly doubt you have anything else better to do around here."

"Other than monitoring the fort surveillance," Sniper snarks. "But by all means, go ahead."

Sniper gives me the evil eye from between the space of his glasses. I lift my shoulders slightly. "Fine by me. For the rest of you, return those whenever they're done," I turn to go pick up my binder, and everyone begins moving. I face them again. "Another thing. Do not- and I cannot stress this enough- _**lose**_ these forms. Are we clear?"

"What happens if we do?" Spy questions as he folds his papers to stash in his suit jacket.

"The Administrator likes keeping punishments a secret. There have been three other people who tried for this position that couldn't meet her standards and they vanished just as abruptly as they had shown up for the job. Miss Pauling has seen all of them come and go. If I mess any of thisup, I can guarantee you won't see me ever again," I state with a grim infliction. The mood sinks. "Dismissed."


	6. Six: An Icebreaker and a Beer or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Heavy)
> 
> This Miss Fredrickson, she does not look like much. She wants to know more about Heavy but I do not want to talk to her. Yes, I will be able to get job again, but I am also very careful around little lady because of what happened with Director and what Sniper told me just other day. If she think she can outsmart me... She probably can. She will not outsmart me with her humor, though. Heavy will make sure of that.

The crate slams on the concrete and the wood creaks as Demoman drives his crowbar into the wedge. Splinters fly out as he pops the nails, lifting the lid and checking the contents inside. The aroma of lumber is strong and vagrant as the guys haul boxes out of the train and into the loading bay. I sit on top of one and scribble away vague notes on a looseleaf sheet of paper. Anything, really, is subject to making it onto this, but it isn't going to make it into the final dossier. They're more for me than the Administrator.

"Demoman!" I call out, tapping my pen on the clicker. 

"Aye!" he calls back, his voice echoing throughout the station. He pulls a bottle of scrumpy.

"I need your real name." He jogs over to watch me as I write, telling it to me. "Is that an E?" I point my pen to his middle name and he confirms.

"Make the G capitalized in me last name."

"Tavish Finnegan DeGroot," I repeat. "Got it. Scout?"

"Jeremy," Scout yells from somewhere within the train.

"Last name?"

"Just Jeremy!" I glance over at Engineer who shrugs. "Heavy? How about you, hun?"

He drops another large crate of supplies adjacent to the one I'm sitting on. "M-I-K-H-A-I-L," he spells out for me, struggling slightly on some letters.

"Last name?" 

" **Нет.** And do not call Heavy 'hun.'" He rubs his hands together and gleams at me before walking off to go get another box. I mouth the word " _no_ " and scribble notes on Heavy's abrasiveness. Engineer orders Soldier and Scout around the loading dock. It's smoldering in the New Mexico desert today- especially for a day in the middle of August- a lot of hot air blowing into the bay and not having anywhere to go. Heatwaves make the air vibrate off in the distance and it strains the eye to look at the scenery. My shirt adheres to my back and the inside of my elbows feel disgustingly moist. I watch Heavy walk by with a sweaty upper lip and highly reflective cranium, darkened marks on his shirt near his armpits. Soldier appears at my side inexplicably, looking rather unbothered by the temperature.

"Jane Doe," he states. I lift an eyebrow as I write down his name. Engineer yells out for Soldier and he runs off, calling only the first word of cadence as his feet lands. " _Hut, hut, hut, hut, hut..._ "

"Okie-Dokie, then, " I sigh. Last but not least is the engineer. "Engineer!"

There's no response. "Engineer?" 

I purse my lips and squint as I survey the area. A light bulb goes off in my head, and I grumble slightly at the solution I've come up with. Sitting up and setting my things aside, I cup my hands to my mouth. "Engie?"

"Right here," he responds in a strained voice, dropping a smaller crate than the ones Heavy has been lugging in. He leans one arm on it with a smile, and I scoff with an involuntary grin at his ridiculousness. "Dell."

"Last name?"

"C-O-N-A-G-H-E-R. Dell Conagher the engineer," he muses, removing a smaller prybar from his chest pouch of tools and pulling open the top. I can see Scout resorting to pushing a box with his back from over the top of my binder.

"Scout, you'll throw out your back like that," I warn.

He grunts in exertion before sinking to the ground, his shirt lifting as the fabric sticks to the unsanded wood of the container. "Like I have a choice, _you_ try carrying this."

"Baby," Heavy teases in a low time as he drags Scout's box away, Scout laying down on his back with his arms spread out.

"I have gotten a splinter!" Soldier announces to no one in particular as he stands on a box with his index finger held high to showcase the sliver. "This better be American wood or so help me God..."

Heavy returns with Demoman over his shoulder, the Scot blubbering nonsense with a bottle still on hand. Heavy sits him down on the floor next to where my legs hang. "He is no longer in condition to work. Neither am I."

"Alright, alright then," Engineer stops all of the chatting as he continues to struggle with his tool, the lid popping on one final push. He peeps at the contents and starts digging around, the top of the box falling back onto him and making a solid _thunk_ on his hard hat. He's unphased by this and pulls out the most blessed item in all of this fort: _a phone_. Engineer brings it to me with his arm extended, retracting just as it's about to fall into my hands. "Promise you'll call me Engie."

"I-- uhm, c'mon, just give me-" I stutter and reach out, Engineer taking a step out of grasping range. 

"Now, Miss Fredrickson, I am absolutely a man of my word- don't get me wrong about that. Can't you just do me that one little thing, though? "

I scowl at him. "Please give me the phone, Engie."

He places it in my open hands and chuckles. "Was that so hard?" 

Scout and Soldier gather with the rest of us, Heavy following _Engie_ back to his workshop. Soldier hoists himself up to sit next to me, his index finger close to his face to try and extract the splinter. I lean over his shoulder and pick it out for him, flicking it away in a different direction as he rubs a tiny droplet of blood away. Scout sits facing us and leans back on his arm for support. "Why do you have such a hard time calling him Engie?"

I rotate the phone in my hand as I ponder about it. Why _do_ I have difficulty referring to him by his chosen nickname? "I guess it's just because I don't know him like that? It doesn't feel like I've earned the right to call him that. I don't want to impose too much on your daily lives, that'd be rather rude considering I'm the outsider."

"Well, Engie is trying to let you in. Let him let you in," Scout tries extra hard to formulate that last thought. He sits with his legs crossed now, hunched over his lap. "Watcha need that phone for anyway?"

"Mainly to call Miss Pauling," I answer quickly. "I look to her for guidance on everything, I'm newer at this than she is."

Soldier bumps my shoulder with his own. "It sounds like the two of you are broth- sisters in arms."

I nod. "We pretty much are. I should call her soon."

"Hope you don't plan on doing anything on an empty stomach." Engie and Heavy come back with lager and lunch, a couple of cheers of approval to the booze. Heavy sits on the ground next to Scout and positions the parcel of drinks in the middle of the lopsided circle we've created. Heavy is content with his own sandwich on the small, clean white plate it's typically presented on. Engie hands Demoman a beer and Scout a can of something else, Soldier denying a drink. I wave Engie off from handing me a bottle. "Just one isn't gonna hurt ya."

"Eh, I'd just not prefer one right now, nothing personal," I dismiss him, and he takes it for himself, popping the cap off with his teeth to my surprise. 

"I don't suppose you're also against bacon while on the clock?" Engie prods, holding a baggie of sizzled pork.

Soldier pushes up against me a bit, excitedly. "I would like some bacon."

"I actually wouldn't mind a piece," I admit, picking up a slice after Soldier takes three to Engie's dismay. "Thank you."

_'Southern hospitality'_ gets etched into my scratch paper. 

I'll hand it to him, he makes good bacon at least. It's got a slight sweetness to it, possibly from the thin grease coating on it that's beginning to drip onto my hand. The pork is a tad soggy, sadly, which might've been caused by bagging it while it was still hot. I lick the side of my thumb to clean up a drop of grease, a tangy saltiness about it. The countryman snickers as he watches me, assuming his spot on the ground on the other side of Soldier.

"So, what else do you need to know about us?" Scout speaks up as he flips the pop tab on the can.

I hum as I have the tip of my index finger in my mouth to get rid of the tiny amount of lard left. I flip my binder open "I still need your age and place of birth."

"Easy, you already know I'm from Boston," he chimes, snapping his fingers. "And I'm twenty-seven."

" _Oh,_ " I snidely exult. Heavy smiles at my slight rudeness. "I thought you were younger than that."

"How young?"

"Like... twenty-two? Eighteen if I'm really reaching." A few of them chuckle at my estimate. "Demo? Are you okay with me calling you that?"

"Fine by me. Forty-nine. Scotland." He has Scout roll him a new bottle.

"No," I gasp.

Engie nudges Soldier's leg with his elbow to get him to speak. "Minneapolis, Minnesota. I am currently forty-three."

"I can kinda see that. That's not too bad," I reason, shrugging and flipping my hair over my shoulder as I lean over to write. The guys groan from my lack of a reaction. His brains may be a bit scrambled, but I can hear it in his voice.

"Guess," Heavy demands, a smirk about him. Scout mutters under his breath as he giggles.

"Uhm, I'd say forty like Soldier," estimating results in a spike of commotion.

"Fifty-seven," he reveals. I gawk, mouthing what he said to myself in astonishment. "Born in Russia mountains."

"Are you guys fucking with me? I feel like you're fucking with me," I consider the option.

More laughing fit ensues. It's getting infectious, causing me to break out slightly with a case of the chuckles. Do they look younger or am I just bad with perception? This must happen often if they think it's funny. Engie cackles, patting his knee as he shifts positions. "C'mon now, Miss Fredrickson! You're flattering us now. Betcha you can't guess mine."

"I don't think I want to."

"Go on, then," he encourages. "I hear it's good luck if a pretty woman can guess your age right."

A charming smile is directed at me, and I feel an off-brand version of gallantry in my stomach. Scout, Heavy, and Soldier all turn their heads to look at Engie for a moment before turning back to me. He can't be too much older than me, right? His baldness can be likened to his own personal preference of shaving rather than old age. I'm pretty sure I saw a shadow of where his hair is supposed to grow anyway. My face contorts slightly as I examine him, a premature wave of comedy hitting the group. I nervously smile. He's fit enough to be hauling around shipment cargo by himself... 

"Dinnae hurt yourself thinking too hard, lassie," Demo snarks and garners an audience reaction. Engie leans back as he drinks.

"I am going to peg you as a thirty-five-year-old man," I declare. He almost spits out his beer and starts laughing as he downs it, starting a coughing fit. "Oh, dear."

He keeps trying to express joy in between his hacking, and I eventually hop off the box and kneel at his side to make sure he's alright. This is a source of great amusement for everyone, Scout borderline _guffawing_ which sounds atrocious. Engie clears his throat a couple of times after I pat him on the back like a baby. He snickers and looks over at me. "How are you going to assume a forty-three-year-old man is thirty-five?"

I lean back in confusion. We are now approaching hollering territory. "You're the same age as Soldier?"

"Yes! Miss Fredrickson, how--" He stammers in exasperation before running out of air and choking again.

I start up an argument as I pat his back. "I thought you were closer to my age! Hey, take this as a compliment, you look moderately younger than you actually are."

"Okay, how old are ye then?" Demo asks, grinning at me. 

"Please tell me you're not older than me, Miss Fredrickson. I get picked on as the team baby, and- let me tell you- I am _sick_ of it," Scout pleads, looking rather serious in comparison to a few seconds earlier.

"We're still going to make fun of you regardless, son," Soldier admits, everyone agrees.

"I'm thirty-one," I ring, my tone wooden. Engie begins to cough harder.

"Thirty-one?!" Engie exclaims, his pitch rising a few octaves as he quickly runs out of air.

"Yes, thirty-one," I echo. Scout wails and falls backward, laying down in agony over this revelation.

"I could've sworn _you_ were the one who was thirty-five," Engie protests, mumbling something under his breath in a concerned tone. "Oh, well."

"What are we _'oh, well'_ -ing about?"

He looks at me with a lop-sided grin as his shoulders jolt when he coughs gently. "Er-"

"I delegate Scout-and-Sniper-bullying privileges to you!" Soldier says with a salute. "Use them as freely as you wish, sister." Soldier sniggers with a bold simper as he watches Scout's tantrum unfold.

"I'm older than Sniper?" I ask.

"Sniper only one year older than Scout," Heavy speaks with a full mouth as he scarfs down the rest of his sandwich. "No one messes with him too much. Only baby-man." That sheds a new light that changes my perspective on Sniper. I could've sworn he was forty. Now I can only see him as a moodier Scout that reminds me of my little brothers despite me being just three to four years their senior whereas my oldest brothers are simply twenty-three.

Engie sighs and stands up, reaching down and helping me to my feet. "I'm from B- Bee Cave, Texas. Forgot to mention that, I think."

"I'll... Go write that down." stepping over the beer crate, I collect my things. The last laughs- and cries- flee the loading dock, everyone picking up behind them to resume work after our short break. All disperse, except Demo who is picking up the beer box and its empty bottles- stumbling slightly at his drunkenness. I jot everyone's birthplace down on their sheets and sigh as I slide them into their respective dividers. This was fun, and a great way to ease the tension some it seems. Heavy puts his gigantic hand on my minuscule shoulder, leaning down to talk to me more personally. My ankles shift slightly at the added weight.

"Although you make Heavy laugh, I still want to let know that I do not like you."

"Fair," I respond, not even feeling the slightest bit hurt by this as I got somewhere with _most_ of them. Heavy pats my shoulder and departs. I call out to the bay. "I'll be on my way, guys!"

Engie claps with a hoot before gently tapping his fist to my arm. "Thanks for the laugh, Miss Fredrickson."

I scoff with a gentle curl of my lip. "Well, thank you for the bacon."

He gives a thumbs up and wanders off behind me. I grip my binder as I think back to the vial. 

"Actually, Engie! Hey, how much do you know about chemistry?"

"I'd say quite a bit," he reckons, turning to me with his fists on his hips. "Need something?"

I nod. "Do you know about a compound called _CHCl 3?_"

"That'd be called chloroform in layman's terms. It's used as a solvent most commonly for shoe polishes and cleaners. Let's see here... For starters, it can mess ya up real bad if you inhale it for too long. Makes you woozy and can mess up some organs. A sure-fire way to tell of its prominence is that sweet smell it gives off. It might not be sweet to you, but the odor is strong regardless. It's the stuff you'd see the kidnappers in the TV shows use when they put the rag to the person's face. It doesn't work that quickly, though. Takes at least five minutes for it to take effect." He lists facts and uses his fingers as a guide point to how many he's told. 

That doesn't sound too good. I put up my binder and brand new phone, ready for departure. "Thanks for telling me."

He pulls me back gently with his hand on my hip before letting go. "Yeah, no problem. Mind if I ask why you needed to know that?" He sounds as though he's interrogating. 

Should I tell him about the vial? I don't have enough information for it to mean anything, and he'd probably get mad at me for withholding it in the first place. We'd be back to square one. Even so... "Just between you and me?"

He nods takes a step closer.

"I uhm... I found it in a bottle. In the drone. I hardly think it means anything, though."

"And you were going to keep it from us?" Telling him was a bad idea. He has a right to his suspicions, but I'd really appreciate it if he didn't have any right now. "We can tell the rest of the team later, BLU might be planning something. Please don't go sneaking around like that, Miss Fredrickson. Regardless, the more ya know. Don't be a stranger if you need a question like that answered, all right?"

"Yeah, alright. I'll be seeing you Engie."

"Have a good one."

I groan in hesitation. "Actually, one more question."

He smiles. "What's yer question?"

"Is it normal for you guys to be kinda... You know... _stubborn_ about your stances on new people?"

He holds his chin and looks down. "Not usually. Come to think of it, quite a few of us have been acting a tad bit strange in the past month or so. It's been gradual but hasn't amounted to much. I'm guessing it's the stress of not having work that's doing us in. I highly doubt it's you as a person, though. You're a rather lovely young lady."

I can't help but smile at his impromptu compliment, and he has a little shit-eating grin to go with it. It puts me at ease nonetheless. "Thanks, Engie."

"Don't even mention it."

I wave to him as I enter his garage and exit into the main hall, the luxury of air-conditioning offering relief to the searing heat. Taking deep breaths helps my heart slow down while I fan myself with my free hand. Because of how much of a brick this phone is, I can't hold it betwixt my book and my stomach as effectively as I want. I stop to adjust the placement of my items, a piece of paper sliding in and obscuring my view below me. I lift an eyebrow as I look up, Pyro's gas mask frightening me into taking cautionary steps back. His gaze follows me, a grunt and a shake of his hand signifying I am to take his sheet from him. I pull it from him, and he turns to walk off. 

" _Hey_ ," I growl after taking a quick look. "Pyro, this is _blank!_ "

He keeps walking away despite my objections. I call his name repeatedly, my tone getting more and more stern as I do. This whole opposition schtick is getting old, why can't they see that I'm one of the only ones willing to help them? I walk after him and grab onto his arm to turn him around. Pyro whirls and hits my hand away, feverishly spouting arguments from under his gas mask.

I ball a fist. "Pyro, were you in my room last night?" I'm getting answers right now, I don't care about subtlety anymore. The job isn't worth it if the people I'm working with are trying to kill me. The Administrator can do her worst. "Answer me."

He clasps his hands together, fingers intertwined. A sharp exhale passes through the filter of his mask as he separates his hands showing me his palms and wiggling his fingers. I shudder but stand my ground. "The least you can do is get me a new mattress, asshole."

"Oi, don't go calling Pyro an asshole," Sniper jumps in, aggression ripe and bold in his infliction. "I'm not sure what the two of you have gotten into, and I don't want to know. Don't be a wanker if you just can't understand 'em."

The hypocrisy is strong with this one. Anger seethes from the spaces in between my teeth, but I zip it up. Pyro walks off to leave me with Sniper. A growl rumbles in the back of my throat as I watch him, Sniper tapping my shoulder with the back of his hand.

"You're getting on my bloody nerves, Shiela." His voice is quiet and reminds me of tires turning on a gravel path. He sounds greatly agitated by my actions, but I am with his, too. He thrusts his arm out with his papers. "Let's get this over with. I already talked to the doc, said we can do my physical right now."

"Oh," I loosen the tension in my body and collect it from him. "Why right now?"

We begin walking down the hall. He readjusts his grip on his rifle that's resting on his shoulder by the strap. "We're most vulnerable during resupplies. It can take up a week to complete sometimes, so it would be easier for me to get it done as soon as possible to keep watch over the whole process."

"Resupplies carry a security risk because...?" I push for more information. "I'm required to know this stuff. by the way."

He sighs. "Bay doors can't close while the train is here, creating a new entrance through the track. Everyone is typically helping out with the shipment, meaning the fort is a desert town. I'm the first line of defense, and then it comes to Soldier who's watching the cameras around the fort. But since he's helping Engie this time around, it's all up to me."

"Why not wait until the shipment leaves?" Retorting, he looks down at me and gets a twitchy eye. Hey, man, I'm not enjoying your presence too much, either.

"I'll be thinking about it until it happens, and I need a clear head for a clear shot."

It makes sense in the long run, especially with his overly-expressed disdain for being in the same fort as me. I try to shove the papers into the binder with full hands, giving up when I almost drop my phone. Nothing is going to happen to this phone as long as it is in my possession. I am sorry PDA, you are now nothing to me.

Medic sits casually on a rolling stool, birdseed in his open palms as he has two birds pecking away on each hand. The feeds drops on the floor as the gentle creatures become picky on what pieces they're willing to accept. Looking up at the two of us standing in his doorway, he dumps the contents he's holding into a container and delicately shoos his pets away. He turns to Sniper in an upright posture and his hands behind his back. "Are we beginning now?"

"Make it quick, doc." Sniper sets down his rifle and rests his hat next to it. I lock the door, taking an anxious breath. You're fine, Fredrickson, this isn't your first rodeo. Granted, they weren't attached to work. Sniper's obviously in a rush to complete this process as he undresses, trapping me near the door until I poke his arm slightly with the antennae of my phone so I could get by. "I 'aven't got all day."

He has numerous nicks and scars covering his body, determined to be a pain to telegraph on the tiny diagram given on his physical evaluation form. I start dotting his chest from what I can see right now. I catch his hands lift to his belt buckle, and I point my pen tip at him to cease action. "Let's just start with height and weight first."

Medic beckons him over to the wall to get him on a scale, giving me a few seconds to quickly skim the information he filled out. He turned in Spy's sheet as well, the flow of intel being as dry as the one for Pyro. Spy is from France. This gives me nothing. Sniper is from Australia and twenty-eight, just as Heavy said. His name is Mick Mundy. I think it suits him: rustic and lived-in like his personality. Medic's papers somehow found their way into the mix. Ludwig Humboldt is a very dashing and bold name. It inexplicably brings me joy. He's forty-five and born in Germany. His hairs are turning grey, so that would mean the stress of this job would be accelerating his age presentation a bit. It's not too noticeable, though. Being in your forties seems to be the running trend here.

"Medic?"

" _Jawoh?"_

Sniper steps back over and pulls out his belt from around his waist hastily. My nose scrunches as the emotion this is giving me grows increasingly negative. As much as we don't like each other, Sniper's a handsome enough guy for me to be able to openly admit the fact. I look down at my mini-diagram and start speckling on dots to not stare. I remember Medic's waiting on a response from me. "Mind getting started anytime soon?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna do these often, but if you would like to follow my multifandom Instagram page (Current is TF2), you can find me at @/amayita.samita and also find my art account there where you can art of Miss Fredrickson!


	7. Seven: Fury of the Bushman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Sniper)
> 
> I've just about had it with that Sheila Miss Fredrickson. If that even really is her real name. Scout didn't bloody believe me when I told him about my suspicions, and he always believes me! Imagine your mate choosing to ignore your warning because he thinks a mongrel cute. Pyro and Spy are the only blokes who listened to me, and I'm sure they told Heavy and Demo as well. I don't trust that Sheila, not for a fucking minute. She has Medic, Engineer, and Soldier thinking sideways, and I'm sure that'll blow up in their arses soon enough. Think it time to deal with it myself.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Medic whispers to me as I keep my back turned to Sniper who's redressing. I flatten my lips and furrow my eyebrows at him. He's a doctor, I'm not. Something tells me he continually forgets that a lot of people aren't _doctors_. "I'll be back. Don't go anywhere." He pats my back and disappears behind the partition again, whirring, a mechanical _flush_ , and a flash of light indicate something is amiss. I step behind the separator and see nothing more than a small contraption slowing down its spin cycle on the ground. 

"It's a teleporter," Sniper tells. "I don't blame you, bet you've never seen one before."

"I-I thought they only existed in movies." 

"That's the truckie for you. Mate's always inventing something new and unusual. Medic's like that, too. Bloke does more meddling with God's work than anything else. _May the Queen save him_ ," he mutters.

I really have no other choice than to believe him, considering that these guys are also nonchalant about drones just buzzing around. It's safe to look at Sniper again as he sits on Medic's stool fully-clothed. He replaces his sunglasses and flips on his hat, leaning his back against Medic's desk with his arms crossed. He watches me come back around to where my files are. Organizing all of these are going to be a pain, but it must be done. Sniper's hand grabs my wrist when I try to pick up the file on the table behind him, his grip slowly releasing when I rotate my wrist a few times. We both squint at each other. "Any reason in particular why I'm being antagonized now?"

He wheels around to follow behind me as I step over to where my tornado of a folder sits. "I've been thinking--"

"Sounds horrible. Maybe you should tell Medic about that when he gets back," I sarcastically quip.

"I've been puzzling some things together," he rephrases. "Don't you think it convenient that we get suspicious activity a few days after you arrive?"

I knit my brows together in confusion. "You guys are mercenaries. I thought _'suspicious activity'_ was just your average Tuesday given that you guys have intelligence."

He lifts an eyebrow. "How'd you know about the intelligence?"

"It's my job to know?" I retort. "And Miss Pauling ran me through some basics off the books. I think now would be a good time to mention that she and I have lived together for six years as roommates. That's how I got a job with the Administrator so quickly. Because Miss Pauling and I are friends."

His nose flares as he sniffs. "Spy has been in deep covers longer than that."

"Are you accusing me of being a spy?" I assume. Medic teleports back in.

"There's no way Miss Fredrickson is a spy, Sniper. You're being dramatic," Medic defends me as he steps out into view. Archimedes Two flies over to him and the air from his flapping whisks some of my papers away. I pick them up. "Why would Miss Pauling assign a _spy_ to work with us?"

"Miss Pauling ain't a perfect Sheila. Clearly this one here has gotten you fooled just the same." Medic gives an exaggerated sigh with an eye roll to match. Sniper persists. "Remember when the bloody cameras were on the fritz?"

"Yes, Sniper. The engineer fixed the faulty wiring."

"The motion sensor triggers all over the fort?"

" _Ja_ , Sniper. The engineer fixed the faulty wiring."

"How about th--"

" _The engineer fixed the faulty wiring,_ " Medic snarls in a low tone. "I think you are being rather unfair in assuming our new contractor is a spy. Perhaps one of our friends is the perpetrator and they slipped in with the expectation of Miss Fredrickson's arrival."

Sniper growls and stands up this time. "We start having stinkin' tech issues for an entire month when we weren't having any before and then _she_ shows up, wanting to know everything about us and ordering us around as if we don't 'ave enough to do already, and you're not the least bit bothered by that?"

I stand by idly as this spitting match continues on without my input on anything. Sniper is adamant about proving his suspicions right. He turns to me again to pull me back in for round two. "How come I saw you looking all anxious in your room?"

Medic and I peer at one other in slight bewilderment. That was stated in a very blunt way. "Why were you watching me in my room?"

"I told you the first day you got here," he spits as he begins pointing his finger at me. He advances at me with attentive shoulders and a repulsed look. "I see everything. I told you to keep your curtains closed unless you had something to show me. You're a dense prick, I suppose, since you didn't listen to a word I said. For better or for worse, I saw what you were doing, Sheila. Mind telling me what was in that vial of yours from the drone?"

My back hits a gurney, and the bed shakes. I swallow hard and shakily expel the stale air I was holding in my lungs. Was I that careless? The back of my throat hurts, and I can't find the words to protect my innocence. Medic intervenes and pushes Sniper further away from me, a rotten expression gracing his features.

" _Dummkopf,_ back up," Medic huffs. Sniper gains his distance from both of us, bearing his clenched teeth and continuing his tirade.

"Tell us what was in that bloody bottle." Heat rises to my face and my hands become clammy. "Go on ahead and tell us, Miss Fredrickson."

I finally find the strength to speak. "I-I-I'm going to call Miss Pauling, you can talk to her about it. I assure you, Sniper, I'm not a spy."

That didn't sound convincing whatsoever, but it's enough to give me a slight push to move. I pick up my phone and begin dialing. "How do we know you aren't phoning your BLU friends?"

" _Das ist genug!_ " Medic slams his fist down on an iron cart full of tools, the metal clattering when it lands. "I think you are forgetting about the fact that she _willingly_ got rid of the BLU operatives when she didn't have to! She was covering our tracks all night so they wouldn't be found any near here. _Ich verstehe nicht, warum du so handelst._ "

I fumble with the buttons, my hands shaking as they argue. It turns into a spitting match behind me, their volume growing and growing each time I have to start over with inputting her number. All of this is my fault, I know that. I just don't know how to fix it. Relying on Miss Pauling can't be my only tactic and it doesn't feel right to call her for something as petty as this. It's got to be done, though.

"Shut it!" I yell, the two of them ceasing fire. I sigh and punch in the remaining numbers, hovering my thumb over the call button. I'm not totally clear as to what exactly I'm risking here, but there are stakes that are raising with each passing second. I wouldn't be in this mess had I just closed my curtains like a normal human being. Probably wouldn't have made a difference because then he'd wonder why my curtains are closed all the time. Bitching and moaning over it isn't going to undo it. 

I tap the call button. We all look at each other as the phone rings, anxiety growing with each pause. The tools on the cart next to Medic begin to jingle like shaken keys as the building starts rumbling slightly. The phone clicks.

"Pauling here."

"Miss Pauling, hey, it's Fredrickson. Listen, I've got an issue w--" Deafening ringing startles me and makes me drop the phone. 

" _ **Intruder alert!**_ " The Administrator booms over the building intercom. The rattling from the cart becomes louder and things around the clinic start to fall to the floor. The doves quickly become agitated and start flying around in a frenzy.

The Administrator has yet to announce who or what is the current threat. The German rushes to strap on the harness to his Medi Gun, skipping over the lab coat and gloves. Sniper stands by idly, ignoring his rifle that's haphazardly laid across the hooks of a horizontal coat rack. He watches me carefully as we wait for the rest of what The Administrator has to say.

"Hello? Fredrickson? I hear the alarm, what's going on?" I get on my knees and pick up the phone.

"I'm, I'm not s-sure. She, uh, she hasn't- she hasn't told us anything yet."

"That's not like her, to leave you guys hanging like that," she speaks calmly to counter-act my panic. Sniper keeps staring me down as Medic has moved on to soothing his pets. "To be on the safe side, you and whoever you're with should get to the briefcase. Don't go at it alone."

I glance up at Sniper, breathing heavily. "Sniper, we have to go defend the intelligence."

"Yeah, right. As long as you stay here," he tries to deflect me.

I sputter. "I- Uh- I'm-- No? We should stay as a group, we don't know who's out there."

"Fredrickson, what's happening?"

The pounding of the alarm is getting irritating at this point. I groan and stand up. The feed cuts back in. " _ **Intruder alert! BLU Spy has infiltrated the base! Protect our intelligence!**_ "

"Fredrickson?" Miss Pauling calls out for me to answer her, but I'm currently preoccupied with the angry Aussie in front of me holding a large knife. The phone slips out of my hand. I'm frozen. "Miss Fredrickson, _answer me!_ "

Sniper steps closer and flips his blade a couple of times. "Thanks for standing still, mate."

He yells in exertion as he takes a swing, Medic pulling me out of range at the last moment. " _Verdammt_ _!_ Have you lost your mind?!"

"Get the hell out of my way, quack!" He tries to power past Medic who shoves him back and maintains his position as the barrier between me and my assailant. The glass of the medicine cabinet shatters as he collapses into it, easily shaking off the shards and preparing to fight. This can't be happening right now, this seriously can't be real right now. "Why are you defending the spy?"

"You don't know if she's the spy, _der Dummkopf_. Killing her without proof would be on _your_ hands if she's innocent!"

"Med--" I rise to my feet and try to reach out for him.

"Don't you _touch 'im!_ " Sniper roars, charging again. Medic catches his arms and is quickly locked into a stalemate that ends in a blink of an eye. Sniper grabs Medic by his collar and throws him out of the way, the German stumbling and receiving a blow to the head from the metal bar of a gurney before laying limp on the floor. I call out for him as he slowly stirs, my current objective switching back to Sniper. My ankle rolls while I'm clamoring to keep distance between us. Falling to the floor, my gun holster unclips from my belt and slides across the floor. I push the cart to try and create an obstacle but botch it as I lunge for my firearm, but he drags me away across the floor before my fingers can wrap around it. Clawing on the smooth tile floor, I kick back and make a break for the door. He yanks me by my arm and wraps his hand around my mouth while readying his knife to slice my throat. I bite him. He slams me back onto the ground and straddles me to use his body weight as a restraint and forces his hand down onto my face. I'm trapped.

Air flies out of my chest. My mind goes blank, for how long is something I don't know. I'm going to die by Sniper's hands, that much I do. I can't overpower him, not in the state I'm in now. My gun is too far away, and he'll know if I even try to reach for it. That's not an avenue. There is no other avenue. There's no time to look around and assess what's happening, and even if I did have the time, his fingers cover my eyes and his palm my peripheral. The alarm echoes in my ears as I zone out of this world, the sound morphing into the bells that can be heard for miles from the church on the top of the hill. My time is up. It has to be. I don't see myself making out of this alive. My lungs fill up with air for what feels like will be the last time. Sniper is the only thing that's happening right now, him and the knife that's about to pierce my neck.

Make it quick.

I shoot my hand up and gasp out in desperation, catching his wrist and driving him away with all of the strength I can muster. Every ounce of adrenaline in my body is flowing through my arms. He seethes annoyance as he moves his hand right under my head, reducing my oxygen supply and increasing the area in which he can stab. My grip becomes shaky and black spots litter my vision. Nails dug into his skin, he yells out anguish.

" ** _Die! Die you stupid fucking piker!_** "

Spit speckles my face as he taps deep into a well of rage and pulls upon the wrath of the forlorn and livid Bushmen of the Australian Outback to do everything in his power to shred my throat with his blade. Something deep inside refuses to quit, refuses to die. I'm going out whenever I want to. I continue opposing him, screeching at him when I strike his jugular with my other hand. He barely flinches and raises his arm too high for me to grab onto it to prepare for impact. I begin wheezing, losing sight of him. Worming around under his grip does nothing to deter nor escape his assault. 

A clean metallic _fwip_ earns Sniper a syringe in the neck. His pupils dilate to make room for an open blue sky before his eyelids obscure them. Falling to the side, I strain to force him off of me to roll away. The knife clatters as it reaches the floor. Looking over, Medic heaves in exhaustion as blood runs down the side of his face. His white vest stains red like the edge of the gurney. He lowers his crossbow and turns his attention to me, kneeling and placing a hand on my shoulder as he examines me. "Are you alright?"

"F-Forget about me, hah, what about you?" I exclaim while taking deep breaths as I motion to his head injury. He shakes his head and helps me to my feet.

" _Mach dir keine Sorgen,_ I'll be fine. Does anything hurt, did he cut you?" He prods feverishly as he raises his voice to be heard over the alarm. The rumbling worsens and turns to quaking, Medic pulling me in to prevent me from falling. An explosion disturbs the ground we stand on. All of the windows shatter and blow shrapnel towards us. Medic shields my face in his chest, but that doesn't mean I'm left unscathed as I'm given cuts and scrapes all over my arms. His grip loosens and glass fragments crunch under his shoes as he readjusts himself. His glasses sit broken among the debris. I examine myself, bold lines of red stand out against my dark carob color. The aftershock hits and the birds go ballistic, complete hysteria among the avians. 

"Medic, that was the ship- the shipment dock," I pant. 

"I know, but right now, we have to get to the intelligence." He disregards the doves and squints as he strains to see me.

I swallow hard. "They didn't have their weapons with them, what if they're defenseless out there?"

"I understand your concern, Miss Fredrickson, but we can't worry about that right now. The intelligence is our number one priority, and we can't ignore that," he quickly informs as he lets go of me to mount his Medi Gun and find more syringes for his crossbow. "If we find anyone along the way, then that's great for us."

"What about Sniper?"

"Leave him!" He orders, grabbing onto my arm and placing my gun in my hand from the floor. 

" _ **BLU Team has infiltrated the RED base! Protect the briefcase!**_ "

" _Verdammt noch mal!_ " Medic barks. " _Raus_ , follow close behind me."

He corrals me to the door, checking the hallway for clearance. Once he's deemed it safe, Medic leads me down the opposite way I'm used to going. The lights flicker, and the power goes out. Emergency disaster lights flick on, giving everything a dingy and brown sepia filter. I watch our backs as we advance down the hall, trying to keep up with the doctor's quick pace. He clutches my free hand and we make a break the staircase and down the winding corridor. The keypad on the door blips as Medic mashes his fingers against the keys. Footsteps and yells travel from upstairs. 

"Hurry up, Doc," I pester, flipping my head back and forth with a raised gun.

The lock clicks and Medic pulls me in, gently closing the door behind him to keep our location ambiguous. I rest my head on the wall next to the door, wheezing as I get the opportunity to catch my breath. Medic checks the briefcase, determining if it's been tampered with or not. 

"Miss Fredrickson, are you in need of medical assistance?" He asks passively as he searches the room for something.

My hip hurts from the fall I took earlier, and I'm developing a migraine. I still refuse help. "We have to get you cleaned up."

"I already told you not to worry about me," he huffs and sets down his crossbow on the table next to the briefcase.

"A dead medic isn't very helpful to me or anyone else."

"This? It's minor, _die gnädige Frau_." He points to his contusion and brushes off the fact he very well might have a _concussion._ "Your health is more urgent than any of ours."

The door rattles and Medic picks his weapon up once more. He urges me to get behind him, but I decline as I stand next to him with my gun drawn. My hands shake as I have trouble seeing straight. The keypad beeps. The door swings open and slams shut. We both sigh relief as Engie, Scout, and Soldier pile in with us. They're battered and bruised but still kicking. Scout has nothing but a baseball bat, Soldier a shovel, and Engie two shotguns. Why wouldn't he have relinquished one to Soldier or Scout?

"Hey, you guys are alright!" Scout rings enthusiastically, just now noticing the hemorrhaging on Medic's forehead and my sliced arms as his face turns sour. "Well, alive at least."

"Heavy, Spy, Demo, and Pyro. What happened to them? Are they okay?" I badger and lay the questions on thick.

"Slow down, sister," Soldier takes on the task of answering me. "We're unfortunately looking a lot like Poland. Pyro and Heavy decided to stay back and fight like men on the front lines. A valiant effort although the USSR might lose this for us and switch sides at the last moment the way they did in the war. Despite that, Demo caused the explosion and tore apart those BLUs in the name of America like a true ally would. I haven't seen the crouton. He's more than likely looking a lot like France at the start of the w--"

"Yeah, thanks for the history lesson, Soldier," Scout rolls his eyes and fixes his hat.

"What happened to you two sorry suckers? Where's Campervan?" Engie asks, more worried than the casual that he's trying to portray himself as. 

The doctor and I both exchange a look, Medic shrugging. "Sniper attacked us."

Soldier butts in and grabs me by my collar. "That's what you get for trusting _non_ -Americans! I'm telling you, it'll be the medicine man next." He shakes me and motions to Medic who couldn't be bothered any more than he already has been today.

"Now why on God's green earth would he do that?" Engie probes for more information.

"As a German who was active during the second w--" I cover Soldier's mouth as he continues his muffled rant into my hand.

"He thought I was a spy," I divulge, picking off Soldier's fingers to get him to let go. "The alarm sounded as soon as I tried to call Miss Pauling about something a-- **The phone**." Everyone's- but Soldier's- shoulders drop as they realize the meaning of this along with me. "I dropped the phone in the fight with Sniper."

"Did you manage to get the call out?" Engie cautions. "Did she pick up?"

"Uhm, yeah, yeah. I was talking to her when the spy alert went off. She said something was wrong when the Administrator didn't tell us about the mercenary that was infiltrating."

"So y'all had the same problem?" Engie asks. Medic hums in confirmation.

"Do you think she'll come for us?" Scout questions as he tries loosening up his shoulder, groaning as he winds it.

"It's likely if she was able to hear us fighting in the background. Here, let me heal you all in the meantime." Medic passes his crossbow to me and dismounts his Medi Gun, flipping a few switches to cause a carmine-colored orb to form at the muzzle. He can't even get his hand to the lever when the armored door blows open and bodies Engie, leaving him out of commission. He's slammed against the desk before falling to the ground and dropping his guns, Soldier grasping for one that slid his way. He manages to get a few shots off before suffering a similar fate to that of Engie with a pistol whip clean across his cheek. Scout cries out to face our enemy head-on, armed with only a bat, and getting shot with a syringe to his neck- a fate similar to that of Sniper. Medic takes his crossbow back and aims in the general direction of the door, his sight blurred by his wound and lack of visionary aid.

We're backed into a corner. I hit a body. Turning around reveals a BLU spy that was idling by in the room with us the entire time. I'm overpowered with the element of surprise and win myself a close-fisted sucker punch to my temple. Body unresponsive, I lay motionless on the wood floor, barely hanging on. Medic tries fighting back and is quickly apprehended much gentler than the rest of us. He gets pinned to the ground and is bound and gagged. Our eyes meet while he's laying down. 

" _Collect them all. Might as well take their intelligence with us,_ " a voice slurs in my ears as I fight to stay awake. They weren't here for the intelligence? " _Take the lady, too. She's dressed like those crazy Mann Co. bitches, so she might know a thing or two._ "

My eyes veer slightly as my brain tries to shut down. Engie's second shotgun is within reach. I can't squander this opportunity. Medic rolls over a tad and kicks the gun to slide it over to me. I pick it up and aim at the first person I see, pulling the trigger and getting blown back by the recoil. I yell out as my shoulder throbs in agony, dropping my firearm. I don't know if I shot anyone, and I'm not allowed to find out as hands encase my head. My arm locks up. Medic's wailing is muffled and a high-pitched ringing overtakes my hearing. It flattens out to a dial-tone for a short instance. I can see the wall behind me. My spine cracks. My neck is snapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen (and nb pals), it was lovely to have you this chapter! See you next chapter... Or not. :)


	8. Eight: Feeling a Little BLU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Medic)
> 
> Well, alright, this does not look good. Especially for Miss Fredrickson. They stuck her in a freezer for three days, and we all know that that's not how you properly store a body, especially one in such great shape for reanimation. I've only just now been able to view her, lying limp on the floor of the train car and told to bring her back to life. Maybe if they wanted her alive for their boss, they shouldn't have killed her in the first place. Perhaps she was supposed to be an incentive for Engineer and me because they didn't have to bring me all the way down here to heal Soldier and Miss Fredrickson. It's not that simple, though, so I might need to take a few things from her first. Without her knowledge or consent, though, of course. I'm a field medic, not a doctor with a license, I'm allowed to cut a few corners.

Miss Pauling watches me from the other side of the living room, sitting in the armchair with an expectant look. I stand in the doorway of our apartment, a bag of groceries in hand. Pulling down the hem of my uniform causes metal pins on the back of my nametag to scratch my chest. I chuckle lightly. "Honey, I'm home."

"Dead, honey, that's what you are," she corrects in a sarcastic tone. 

"Dead?"

"Dead."

" _Dead_ , dead?"

"As dead as it gets." She points to the couch. I ignore her and walk into the kitchen, beginning to put away my groceries. "And now you're deflecting."

"No, I just don't want the milk to get warm," I say, ripping the fridge open and tossing the carton inside. The paper bag tears at my speed. "Nobody likes sour milk. You were the one who asked for it before I left."

"Nobody likes having a dead teammate," she counters.

"I'm not their teammate."

"You became a part of the team the moment you accepted the offer, Miss Fredrickson." She motions to the couch again. I refuse a second time and turn around to start a pot of coffee. She sighs. "What, you're going to let a few bad interactions deter you from the job?"

I stand at the sink and fill the pot with water. "A team is about working together, and I can't work together with people who try to kill me."

She laughs and rests her head on her fist. "Oh, _all_ of them were trying to kill you?"

"Yes," I say, pouring the water into the brewer.

"I beg to differ." She starts to tap her foot. "I'm trying to help you, Fredrickson."

I drum my fingers on the edge of the counter before moving a hand to move some strands of my hair out of my face and behind my ear. The air conditioning shuts off and settles the air. I always hated living here. From the noisy upstairs neighbors to the landlord that doesn't do anything and the horrible smell that pushes its way into the vent whenever it so pleases, it's a miracle I have yet to physically harm anyone in this building. Coffee spurts into the pot and splashes, a drop burning my skin. My caffeinated drink doesn't smell right. Cigarette smoke wafts in and gives me a headache when it usually wouldn't. Miss Pauling clears her throat, and I look at her. Her expression is gentle, but stern. I turn away from her again and watch the coffee brew. The laughter of young children can be heard beyond our front door, followed by the exhausted call of their father to keep the volume down. Sunlight shines into the metal kitchen sink and reflects the light into my eyes. 

"So, I'm dead," I recap. "What does that mean now? I've been going to work for the past three days and it took forever to convince Vince and Parma to let me take my old job back, you know that. How am I going to break the news to them now? And it's not like the Administrator will let me take my moonlighting job back as a cubicle rat."

"Sit down, and I'll tell you," she beckons. I shake my head and take a mug out from the cabinet.

"The last time I sat down on the couch to chat with you, I was about to ignite like a fucking fireworks display. Call it a hunch, but the couch is a bad omen that should be avoided."

"I don't understand what else bad could happen to you, your neck got snapped!" She rebukes and stays planted in the armchair. "I assure you, a fictional minimum wage paycheck from a diner that sits on the side of the road in the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico is the least of your worries. And you _hated_ it in the basement, that's why you asked me about my position, anyway! Technically by your logic, though, Miss Fredrickson, that means you're still alive."

"No. It doesn't."

I take a sip of pure black coffee. There's no taste. I frown. She prattles on. "You were simply asleep the last time we met. I even said I was a manifestation of your logical thinking. If you're seeing me right now, that means you're only asleep."

"Uhm, no. Bull _shit!_ " I argue. "You said I was dead when I walked in, _after three days of working at my old job._ I'm _done_ with TF Industries, Pauling. I'm not going anywhere near there again."

"You're dead if you don't talk to me, there's really no other choice," she casually responds. Unbelievable. _This_ is how logical my thinking is? _**This**_ is the best I could do? 

I shrug. "Okay, let's speak hypothetically. _If_ you are my logical thinking, and _if_ you are only to exist because my brain is still functioning, and- for argumentative purposes- there is another person I _would_ be talking to right now in death, how would that even be possible? As you said, my neck got snapped. Neck snapping ends in death. Let me work my death diner job in peace."

Miss Pauling groans and rolls her eyes. "For the love of God, sit down, Miss Fredrickson. I'm going to tell you a little secret, okay?" There's nothing else to do around here. I sigh and rest on the arm of the couch, feeling slightly cocky and as though I'm gaming the system. Miss Pauling's face is unamused, but she continues. "Two of your teammates have a very unusual set of skills that are particularly helpful in this very specific situation. When you wake up--"

"I'm dead."

"Let me finish!" she huffs. "When you come to, please don't try to fight or run away or do any of the drastic things you love doing. What you're about to go through is going to be taxing, so you'll need to save that unbridled recklessness for the right moment. Trust me."

I squint at her and drink more of my tasteless coffee. "You're only supposed to know things I know."

"Just sit on a cushion. Any of them, please. You're making me nervous."

"Ugh," I obnoxiously exult. "Fine."

I lift myself and stare down at the khaki suede. The fabric darkens and sinks in the middle; my typical spot. Turning around one-hundred eighty degrees, I plop down on the couch and take the biggest breath I ever have in my life, sitting up and looking around in a panic.

"Well, whaddya know?" The voice from before my worldly vacation is finding itself back in my ears. I breathe heavily. I'm freezing but also burning at the same time. A hand drops on my shoulder, causing me to jump and look to my side. 

"S-Sol-Soldier?" I stutter and clutch my shirt. "My he- hea- he- heart is beating really fa-f- fast. Why is m-m-m-my heart beating fast?"

"That would be your body making up for lost time," Medic explains, kneeling on his knee next to me, Medi Gun in hand. I move my mouth to say a thousand words at once but don't make a sound. "You'll feel like that for the next hour or so. _Mach es dir gemütlich_."

I hum as a response that has no agreement connotation behind it. I keep humming uncontrollably and my head throbs in pain. My legs are restless and the feeling in my arms has checked out for the night. This is awful. Absolutely no one will want to get resuscitated after I tell them about the gratuitous torture my physical being is succumbing to. I feel so fragile, like so much as making eye-contact will cause me to unravel. I hoot. Medic lifts a curious eyebrow as he watches my reaction. "But I- But I kinda- Didn't I die or- die or something? I feel like I d-died, didn't I do- do- do- didn't I do that? Dying?"

"Hmm, yes," Medic taps his chin. His vest is still stained with blood, but there's no scarring on his head. "Soldier here _un-snapped_ your neck, and I simply gave your body a jumpstart. You've only been dead for seventy-two hours, you're handling this a lot worse than I thought you would. Though, the others are still breathing when I heal them plus the fact they _have no souls..._ "

"Haa-ahhhh-- _**Haaaaaaaaaaahhhh**_ \-- ** _???_** " I squawk in discomfort. Medic and Soldier both flinch at my sudden jolt of activity. There is a lot of information being thrown my way, and I simply do not have the mental capacity to comprehend it on top of having to put up with my body not receiving any of the messages I'm sending; one of those messages just so happens to be a cease and desist. I don't think I'm supposed to taste sound nor feel my neurons firing electricity to my nerves, this is a _nightmare_. My arms seize up for a slight moment before going completely numb and flopping to my sides. Soldier sits with me on the floor and holds me bridal-style in his lap to prevent me from accidentally hurting myself. "Oh, you look go- good. Where- where did yo- your- your scars go?" Soldier's eyes watch me carefully from under his helmet.

"A healing is a healing, Miss Fredrickson. Our bodies are back to one-hundred percent thanks to Medic. I do not trust this foreign technology, however, so we will call it American for my own comfort." My leg twitches which- in turn- forces my hip to pop. The two wince.

"That's enough messing around. You healed them. Take him back," the extra voice orders some other people around, and Medic protests in German as he gets pulled away from me. I reach out for him but am held back by Soldier. "Tie them up again."

I'm yanked from Soldier's grasp and pinned to the ground as my arms get pulled behind my back. There was no pain to be found in my shoulder, remembering the power behind the shotgun blast. What does he put in that Medi Gun?

Soldier tries struggling against the BLU demoman that's restraining him, the guy beckoning over another mercenary to help him. They coordinate in confining us and disallowing access to our hands and our feet. We're spared the gags and get propped up against boxes that have "RED" stamped on the side. Are we on the resupply train? I focus for a second and try to tune out my erratic and possibly life-endangering heartbeat. I feel movement, my body beginning to rock slightly with the train.

Location changes usually do not amount to anything good.

I lean my head onto his shoulder. He shifts his position to slouch and help me get comfortable. "I will not lie, Miss Fredrickson, the tides of war are not in our favor."

"I know," I mumble, still having difficulty breathing normally. "At least Medic is okay. Hav- have you seen anyone else?"

"Shut it up over there!" One of the mercenaries yells into the train car. "We'll gag you if you two act up."

"No," Soldier grumbles.

I let out a ragged sigh. "We'll have to conserve energy. Our only choices are to sit around or take a nap."

"You go ahead and rest, sister. I got your six. Er, uh, your nine."

Cedar wafts to my nose from the crates. We jostle lightly with the movement of the train. The BLU demoman walks by to check on us. He looks nothing like Demo, younger and more beefed up in the arms. I eye him as he walks by, touting a grenade launcher as his firearm of choice.

I wriggle my hands behind my back, trying to get a feel for what material is binding me. Stretching my back slightly, zip ties are identified to be the culprit. Assuming we were searched, it would be preposterous to assume that I'd still have my-- You're joking. I can _see_ the outline of my pocket knife on my thigh. I don't even remember putting it there. I've been carrying a gun this entire time that I've been neglecting the pocket knife I brought along with me. It's just _conveniently_ found in my pocket when I'm in need of it most? I feel as though this is a setup.

The smart choice, obviously, would be to comply. The Miss Pauling in my head said so. I have no chance of survival on this train and I'd be a liability for Soldier who could definitely hold his own. There's no knowing how many enemy mercenaries are boarded with us, and there's just no way we'll be stupidly lucky enough to happen upon the rest of the team and an arsenal of weapons to be at our disposal. We got blindsided, and it will for sure happen again. And don't even get me started on spies that live in the shadows. Uncertainty straightens up my spine as I ponder escape routes. My heart seems to have calmed down as my spasms have stopped. My headache is still present, but bearable. Medic mentioned something about the team not having souls earlier. Does he seriously expect me to believe him? Oh, who am I kidding? Just found out I was dead for three days while I'm on a train being abducted, anything is on the table. Someone could tell me that a wizard killed Tom Jones, and I don't think I'd have too much of an issue with taking their word as truth.

Soldier's head is on a swivel as he surveys what's within our view. I take a peek around with him. A makeshift table made from a crate rests a few paces away from where we sit, a sniper sleeping with his head laid on his arms. His hair is ash white and his arms show marks of old age and experience. Some bottles of beer and an ashtray are set in front of him. A thin line of smoke beams from the cinders. I've noticed that Soldier smells similar, but different, to that of a cigarette. He seems like a cigar smoker to me, anyway, so that must be the case. The door to the train car flips open, giving us a rush of air. The demoman leaves. The sniper jolts awake, giving me a good view of his face. Sunspots litter his cheeks and crow's feet leave a mark on his eyes. He has a strong appearance, though. His bones still have a good amount of meat left on them.

"Farland," the voice that ordered Medic away speaks with an American accent and addresses the sniper, "we're approaching the base. Move these two up to car five C."

"Are you going to escort them with me?" Farland asks, a rasp in his voice as he reaches for his rifle.

His footsteps come closer to us, I pull my attention away from Farland. The patch on their sleeve tells me they're a pyro. Standing before me is a man who's stocky and shaped like a barrel, but not flabby. He's dressed in a suit similar to the one Pyro wears but adorned in blue. A gas canister sits on his back and a minuscule flame thrower occupies his hand. "Yeah, don't worry. Only cut the tie around their feet, leave their hands alone."

Farland approaches us and kneels down, sawing the plastic off with a small knife of his own. We're stood up and ushered from one car to another, having to rely on the BLUs to keep us from falling on the in-between from car to car.

"Stop." Both Soldier and I pause in a passenger car with booths. "Sit down on opposite sides of each other. We're going to be pulling in."

We make haste with sliding into seats, looking at the other from across the table. The wheels screech against the track as everything shifts, my back hitting the leather seat and squishing my hands. This doesn't last long. A full halt is reached in minutes, and we're pulled from the booth in a matter of moments. Farland nudges us along with the barrel of his gun to follow the pyro. A door opens, and Soldier and I step off of the car into the ravenous heat of the New Mexico Badlands. I squint and keep my eyes facing downward, following Soldier's feet, to protect from the sun.

Cool air hits as we enter a building and watch their mercenaries trade out guns and weapons in what looks to be their armory. I don't dare to so much as move to raise suspicion. The pyro steps up to examine us, giving me discomfort and causing me to back up. He stares bug-eyed with a malicious smile. "Oh, where are my manners? Would you prefer to be untied?"

"Yes," Soldier answers before me. Not the answer I would've given, but a good one nonetheless. 

"Shut the fuck up, I'm talking to the one that doesn't irritate me." He snarls before turning to me. 

"Only if you allow him to be released, too," I shakily reply, following after Soldier.

"Hmm. Does he behave around you?" 

I nod. He uses his hand to herd us out of the armory and into the main corridors of their base. Farland and the demoman from earlier pursue us passively. I start to shiver in fear of what's to become of us. RED and BLU yield DISASTER, so I'm not psyched by any sense of the word to find out where our destination is. Passing what looks to be a bustling common room, we come to an open doorway to outside and are stopped and turned around. The cords fall off as they're cut in the same manner as the ones from our ankles. I rub my wrists and thumb the indentations made. "Is that better?"

"Yes, it is... Thank you," I utter, very weak in presentation. 

"Nothing to be afraid of, ma'am," he says. "As a matter of fact, my name is Adam. Can I ask what yours is?"

" _Fredrickson_ ," I whisper. He holds his hand to his ear in a mocking way. My voice quivers. "M-Miss Fredrickson."

"I see. What about him?"

"Soldier," Soldier responds. The mercenaries within earshot laugh, excluding Adam.

"Not your class, jackass. Your name."

"I'm referred to as by Soldier," he insists. I elbow him and give an expression of _I-really-don't-think-it's-a-good-idea-to-push-their-big-BLU-buttons_. "My real name is Jane Doe."

"We'll just call you John," Adam shrugs. "Let's get to it."

"What are we getting to?" I speak up. Adam gives me a side-eye. "If... I may ask?"

"You'll have to meet the boss, and he'll decide that. We've been ordered to escort you there upon arrival, so go ahead and get to walking." Adam steps out of the way and lets us pass first. The courtyard is boxed off and has stairs that lead up an elevation and then flip to lead back into the building. I look up at the structure, still feeling the indent on my skin. "Go ahead."

I glance at Soldier and nod, taking the first few steps back out into dry; burning air. We step slowly and carefully, not wanting to make any sudden movements that'll give their sniper a reason to shoot. I look behind myself to Adam. "Where's the rest of them?"

"Them?" He questions.

"The RED mercenaries. Where are they?"

"The rest of Team Fortress? The boss'll tell you," he reroutes me.

I grumble. "Are they at least alive?"

"The boss'll tell you," he repeats, slightly more aggressively. I tug on a small bit of fabric from Soldier's shirt before letting go. "You must care about your teammates."

I invoke the fifth and don't even look at him. Anything I do or say has the potential to be used against me later. It'd be just as telling to not say anything. "I'm simply their contractor. My employer wouldn't be too happy about losing money from losing men."

Soldier veers a step or two away from me, his gestures turning slightly distant in response to the answer I gave. I want to tell him that that's not the case. Despite only knowing them for a short amount of time, I do care. I can't help _but_ care. No matter how mad I get at myself for doing so, I can't stop the worry from creeping in. Engie's and Scout's wellbeing is easy for me to admit to since they've treated me like a normal person, but some part of me wants to reject the uneasiness of what became of Sniper. We just left him to lay in a pile of glass with a needle in his neck, defenseless and easy pickings. And Pyro, too, despite his whole scare about prepping me for incineration. Soldier said he was fighting along-side Heavy and Demoman, so that has to mean something, right? At the current moment given the circumstances, I can forget about them trying to kill me. Both of them are my responsibility at the end of the day. I just want to know if they're alright. Once I'm assured of their safety, _then_ I'll allow myself to hold a grudge.

"Adam, hold on," Farland speaks up, a radio crackling. He tunes it and steps away to hear. He comes back. "Change of plans. Boss said to get them to their rooms. He's planning on speaking with these two when he gets the time."

"Let's get them boarded," he announces to the other mercenaries rather than us. We're prompted to move faster. "I'm sure you'll find it comfortable here."


	9. Nine: Team BLU-Napped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Soldier, who gets off topic a lot)
> 
> Hippies, all of them! Haven't they ever heard of battle buddies? They already took away my basic American rights, so what are they going to violate next, the Geneva Convention? I don't even know what that is, all I know is that it would benefit ME in the end despite the fact I did the very thing I'm accusing them of.
> 
> I don't like this Adam guy... I think he might be a communist, and we all know that we do not tolerate communists around here. Why do I think he's a communist? Because he's forcing me to share Miss Fredrickson with someone else when I already requested that she be my roommate. Even Miss Fredrickson wants to be my roommate, not with some other person who won't do her the courtesy of waking her up at 4 AM to go do morning PT! Oh no... they're going to take away my morning PT time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to be benevolent and do a double upload to celebrate my Quotev edition getting 500 reads! Don't expect these too often though, ESPECIALLY for the more suspense-filled chapters.

"No, no, no, _please,_ let me stay with him," I plead, pushing to reunite with Soldier. Farland blocks my path. "You- You don't understand, please!"

"Males and females bunking together is prohibited," he insists, confining me within the room. 

"I haven't seen a single woman here, please, let me stay with him." I put my forearm out to push the old guy aside as he looks sturdy enough to take it, but he shoves me first.

"You seem to care an awful lot for being _'simply their contractor,'_ " Adam says, holding his arm out to stop Soldier in the event he chooses to charge him. I back up and grumble, a scowl forming on my face. Adam's fed up with Soldier and will most definitely kill him on the spot. "Hmm, that's what I thought. Stand guard, Farland. If Maeve returns, let her in so she can get her settled."

"At least tell me where you're taking him!" I demand but am ignored.

The door closes and the sniper posts himself outside. Being alone is the worst-case scenario that could be happening right now. There's strength in numbers, but one is the weakest out of them all. Even more so when I'm not a trained killer. I cross my arms to hold myself, turning to check my environment. A window looks out at the rest of the facility across from the door. There are two beds on either side of the room with a corresponding dresser and nightstand. One side is more lived-in than the other. 

Walking over to the populated side, I investigate the nightstand. A framed photo rests on the metal furniture. I pick it up. Two women in blue smile happily as they both hold wrenches, one wears an engineer class patch and both tinker away at a crowded workbench. The frame taps the nightstand as I set it down to continue my exploration. The drawer is empty, and the dresser has nothing but clothes inside, the closet one and the same. Nothing is to be found under the bed. The same can be said about my side. I notice a door. Opening it reveals a small bathroom complete with a tub and shower. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror. 

My clothes are wrinkled and stained, some threads poking out of the fabric. My slacks have brown scuff marks from all of the contact I've been making with the ground, and my shirt has small speckles of blood on them. Whose? I don't know. My hand slowly wanders into my pocket, the cool metal of the outer casing for the knife touching my fingers. I should hide this. 

I leave the bathroom, sitting on the bed and glancing over to the entrance. There's no window to look in through, but I'll have to assume you can hear from the other side. I pull the knife out and examine it. This isn't the pocket knife I brought along with my gun, so this must've been slipped into my pocket between my worldly departure and my return. The only person I can think of that would be able to do this is Medic. I don't know what he expects me to do with it, but I'll have to figure something out. It'll for sure get confiscated if I leave it out in the open, so I pick up the pillow that rests on the bed. I take off the cover and fluff the pillow slightly. Flipping out the blade, I make a slit in the fabric, flicking my eyes over to the door as I try to speed through this operation. I drop the weapon inside and pull the pillowcase back on, placing it at the head of the bed again and patting it gently to flatten it.

Voices speak in the hallway in a hushed tone and panic presses on my stomach. My fingers curl into the bedspread as I tighten my grip, anticipating what's to come as the door swings open.

"Oh, my." A woman my height walks in. Her body is filled in a curvy manner with slightly toned arms. She has long, red hair and hazel eyes, clad in a light blue dress shirt and black pencil skirt. I tense slightly at the sight of her. "Farland, have you been scaring this poor girl?"

"She came like that," he responds from the hallway. 

"I reckon you've been all intimidating-like this entire time along with Adam, haven't ya?" She speaks in a thick southern accent that puts Engie's to shame, almost sounding fake and exaggerated.

"No other way to be. She was with the REDs."

"The Fortress boys?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Move along now, Farland. I'll take care of her from here. Tell my father to contact me in regards to this young lady." Farland slings his gun strap over his shoulder and looks at me one last time before leaving. The woman closes the door and approaches me with a gentle demeanor. "Mind if I take a seat next to ya?"

I nod. "I'm sorry, but I do quite a bit."

"That's fine, whatever makes ya comfy. My name is Maeve, what's yours?"

"Fredrickson," I answer. " _Miss_ Fredrickson."

"No need for formalities, hun," she pursues. I look away. "Okay, then, _Miss_ Fredrickson. I just hope you won't use that sass with the rest of the guys."

"Deal," I say. "Can you tell me if my men are alright?"

"I can," she replies. I can sense a: "But I won't."

"Why not?"

"We have to get ya cleaned up first, girlie. Look at your clothes!"

I give her a look. "My appearance is of secondary concern to me."

"Not to me," she rebukes. "Stand up, miss ma'am. We are going to get some clean linen on yer back before we talk business."

She moves to her closet and picks out clothes that look exactly like hers, holding out the hangers for me to grab. I reach out my hand and take them from her. Standing up and going into the bathroom, I take my time in changing. I need to think. But what about? There's so much I _don't_ know about my situation that it's hard to tell where to start. My mind is like radio static. If I search for a frequency, I'll be able to tune into some sort of way of thinking. I groan as I look at myself in the mirror in between sets of clothing. 

I'm generally unscathed. The cuts from the window blast are very faint, the welts on my fingers from the body disposal have disappeared, and any sign of my ankle injury from the bread monster has very minimal prominence as a faint shadow casts onto my skin. Soldier was right. A one-hundred-percent heal. Why is Medic a contract-kill mercenary when he could be making some serious dough with major pharmaceutical companies? I lean on to the sink to get closer to the mirror and look myself in the eyes. Everything happening right now is so surreal. I feel as though I'm living this passively like a bystander watching this happen. Three days.

_Oh God, I died._

" _Three days_ _,_ " I mumble and smile out of worry. I back up from the mirror and lift my bra strap back up my shoulder. After washing my face and drying it with a nearby towel, I start to get covered. Her clothes fit me better than I thought they would. The skirt fits me lower on my body than it does on hers because of how we're built. Blue isn't my color though as purple suits me better. My hair is a lot less messy than I thought as curls don't do well with being handled roughly. Using my fingers as a comb, my dark brown hair settles down and rests on my shoulders since I don't have anything to put it up with. There's obviously still debris stuck in the tendrils as I pricked myself with a shard of glass. A shower would be great. I slip on my shoes and stand in the bathroom doorway with my old clothes draped over my arm, reaching and turning off the lights behind me. Maeve stands up from her bed and looks pleased, grabbing my clothes and throwing them onto mine for now.

"Now, look at you! You clean up nicely," she gushes as if we're friends trying on clothes together.

"Okay, I changed. _Now_ can I--"

She scoffs and rolls her eyes at me. "Good Lord, can you not be so serious?" I look at her with widened eyes. Is this a game to her? I walk around her and sit down on what's now my bed, refusing to look at her as she sits on her own across from me. "I apologize, Miss Fredrickson. I understand yer a mighty bit stressed at the moment."

"You think?" I sass. 

"Just simmer down, hmm? I think you'll find life here with Team Vanguard better than that of Team Fortress."

Oh! Oh-ho?" I laugh. "You think I'm _staying_ here?"

"I know fer a fact yer staying here," she becomes stern. "Ya can't've liked it too much there with those little degenerates running around and disrespecting ya. A lady shouldn't have to put up with that, should she?"

I tighten my grip on the bedsheet. "How would you know? They've been more than hospitable toward me for my entire time being with them."

Lying through my teeth is only going to get me in deeper trouble. She seems to be able to tell as she lets out a snide chuckle. "If you say so, Miss Fredrickson. If you don't mind my askin', what is yer job with the team? Yer not dressed like 'em, so what're you doin' hangin' round 'em?"

Her accent gets more and more ridiculous the more she talks. Maybe I'm just irritated of having to listen to her speak. "I'm their contractor. I give them jobs and also keep them organized."

"A walking filing cabinet," she sighs. I lift an eyebrow. "We're one and the same, I guess. The difference between you and I is the color we wear. Or, at least, it was. Now we are partners in crime."

She smiles and folds her legs. _Partners in crime_. A few things connect in my mind. She must be the only female here. There are far more than nine guys here, and she warmed up to me rather quickly in contrast to the other mercenaries here. Not many women get into the contract killing world anyway. Farland sounded rather subservient to her, meaning that she has a well-established relationship with at least a few of the men. She's more ditzy snd air-headed than anything and has a very bubbly personality, leaving her prey to being a little naive it seems. 

I can use this.

"Uhm, yeah, partners," I approach with lowered defenses. "Say... Are you the only other girl here?"

"Sure am," she confirms. "That's why we have to stick together in this line of business."

I pursue with feigned innocence. "Like friends do?"

"Exactly like friends do," she perks up with a lighter attitude. That was mind-numbingly easy. It shouldn't have been that easy. This feels fake.

I hold myself and fiddle with the end of my sleeve. Something is off about her, though. She couldn't possibly be employed the same way Miss Pauling is, right? She seems incompetent. To be fair though, I am, too. I have no clue what I'm doing, no plan whatsoever. All I know is that I have to be careful and I can't be careless. There's no telling what I'm up against, not yet. Everything needs to be assessed, starting with who else is trapped in this compound with me. 

"Speaking of friends," I start and she gives me her full attention, "can I ask if mine are okay?"

"Erm, I mean, I don't know..." she sharply inhales and tilts her head as she ponders. 

"Please," I beg. "I need to know. I'd feel horrible if something happened to any of them."

My sentiment has no effect on her. "I'm sorry, I just can't tell you none of that, yet." I'm going about this wrong. I have to establish a rapport or something with her. Any news on them is good news, and I need to receive said good news. I reevaluate my game plan.

"What _can_ you tell me?"

She thinks a little too hard. "I'm not too quite sure myself."

I have to keep her talking. The picture frame. "I hope you're not too mad, but I noticed the picture frame on your nightstand." She looks over to it and picks it up. Her lips flatten slightly as she tries to refrain from expressing sadness. I backtrack a little. "Nevermind, I'm sorry for bringing it up."

She sets it back down and stares at the second woman in the photo. That was an awful decision on my part. Maeve isn't going to talk to me anymore. I should've thought about that more thoroughly, she _did_ say we were the only girls here. To be completely fair, though, I wouldn't have thought there'd be a depressing story to go along with the image. Sighing, I kick off my shoes and lay down, draping my arm over my eyes. I am an absolute disappointment. Now would be a good time to organize my observations.

One: we're severely outnumbered. I've seen so many different BLU mercenaries today that it's completely outrageous that we don't have more people. Having one person for each class seems fair, but it's absolute overkill in here. What makes it worse is that not all of them wear class emblems. If I were to get into combat with one, it'd be difficult to tell if I'm about to tussle with a scout or soldier. They don't all carry the same weapons, either. It's hard to keep track of names and model differences. All I know is that they have guns and they know their way around them better than I do.

Two: they have leverage. We're all separated. There's no coordination between us. The possibility of us being together is slim. I don't even know if most of us are _alive_. Medic and Soldier are still breathing, so I can rest a bit easier about them but not too much as Adamm is on a war path with our millitary companion. There's no word on Engie or Scout. I know for sure they're here. They have to be. All I can do is hope that the other guys made it out alright. I still feel a ping in my heart about the way we abandoned Sniper. My mind still isn't made up about how I'd approach him if I ever cross paths with him again. The image of the hatred laced on his face will never leave me.

Three: I'm alone. I'm practically stranded. Even if I was able to meet up with the rest of the team on my own volition, they still don't trust me fully. Engie and Medic being nice to me could've just been courtesy. I don't have connections to them the same way they do with each other. This is good, though. That means I can't be squeezed for information if it comes to it.

I exhale slowly and rub my eyes, trying to expel dread from my body. This doesn't look too good for us.

Maeve shifts on her bed and stands up. I turn my head slightly to watch her walk over to the window that looks out to the rest of the land. Her face twists in confusion and she walks over to her nightstand, pulling out a radio from the drawer. "Adam."

No one responds. She tries again. "Laurie?"

"We're already on it, Maeve," he sounds out of breath and the radio sparks a few times. Maeve's head turns as she watches something outside. I sit up and pull my heels back on, tightening the laces and standing next to Maeve. I can't help but smile in relief as I eye the red blur. Scout's alive!

He tears through the cargo dock, sprinting like a mad man to avoid sticky bombs that Laurie is launching in his path. Scout's light-weightedness and skinny frame give him an advantage as he flies over the chainlink fence to the courtyard and rolls as he drops to the ground, a determined look on his face to get to his destination. I watch tensely as BLUs move in from the other side, but he doesn't waste a second thought on them, dashing past and scaling up the side of the building. Maeve grumbles.

"Laurie, get him," She snarls. My eyes follow Scout as he takes a running start from one awning to another, the metal clunking as he takes heavy steps. A few guns prattle off, and he ducks. 

"Maeve, don't let them shoot him!" I implore frantically. "Let me talk to him!"

She gives me a guilty side-eye. "No can do."

"Are you serious?" I exult. 

"Kill him if you have to." She gives the go-ahead on the order into her radio, a look of sadness that I can only assume to be of pity. I plaster my hands to the window and catch sight of him slipping inside. Now's my chance. I back up slowly and grab my pillow, turning around and making a break for the door. Sorry Subconscious Miss Pauling, this is too good of an opportunity to pass up. "Dammit, get back here!"

I turn right and stumble a little, trying to find a rhythm for my feet as my heels clack on the floor. " _Scout!_ "

" _Miss Fredrickson!"_ Scout pings back and slides around the corner, pushing off against the wall with this hand as he loses traction with his feet. He slows down and grabs my shoulders, smiling as he pants and shakes me in excitement before hugging me. This is a pleasantly unexpected, "You're here! In front of me! Alive!"

"A-And you, too!" I gleefully emote back. I embrace him, not realizing I needed a hug like this until now. 

" _ **Go! Go! Go! He's by the staircase!**_ "

"Shit," he whispers while breaking our hug, his smile quickly turning ferocious and annoyed. "We've gotta get out of here."

"Agreed," I share his sentiment. "Soldier's also okay, I saw hi--"

Scout pushes me away and punches the space that was behind me, a spy phasing into visibility and stumbling back. He groans and moves his hand to reveal his nose is bleeding, looking at Scout with rage in his eyes and charging at him with a switch knife. Scout grabs his arm and does his best to fend the spy off. I start breathing heavily. My hand plunges into the pillow and pulls out the folding knife with some fluff, flipping out the blade and taking a stand. I exhale and let my fight take over.

I rush the spy, but end up on the ground as he smacks me away. I try to drag myself over to my knife, the same urgency in my body now as there was with Sniper.

No way am I going through that again. 

I kick the spy in the shin and reach my arm out, Scout picking up my weapon and driving it into our enemy's stomach. He groans and slides down the wall to sit while holding his wound. Scout pulls the knife out, much to the spy's dismay, and pushes him over. Heaving, I look him in the eye. Fear suppresses his pupils. I feel the air rush in and out of my chest with my hand over my heart. Scout pulls me up and places the knife back in my hand, adjusting his hat. "Miss Fredrickson? Hey, anybody home?"

"Yeah," I shakily exhale, my eyes unable to break from the spy's. He writhes but stays down. "I'm here."

"Miss Fredrickson, c'mon."

He pulls me away and takes us down a different hallway, having to slow his pace down to accommodate me. Voices come from every direction, and Scout skids his feet as he hesitates what direction to go in. He growls and puts up his fists. Battle cries ring out, gunshots echoing. We both look at each other. Scout furrows his brow. "Is that...?"

" _ **Screamin',**_ " Soldier's voice shoots through the hall behind us as he barrels forward, swinging a shovel that causes a _puht_ _ong!_ to ricochet off of the skull of the spy we stabbed not even five minutes ago. He joins us and thunders. " _ **EAGLES!!!**_ "

"Welcome to the party!" Scout cheers, bumping fists with him.

"Where did you get the shovel?" I ask, wiping my fingers off on my skirt from the blood that came from the knife. "They took yours from you."

He smiles and sniggers. "If I see a shovel and I like it, it's mine."

His answer helps me in no way possible, but it doesn't matter too much to me as long as he's here with us. I'm assuming they've revoked his rights to his helmet as he sports a clean marine buzz cut. I can tell the BLUs are closing in. We're sitting ducks. I hastily dart my eyes around, seeing a door and swinging it open, flagging the guys over to come inside. I gently close the door and pull over a chair to lean under the handle. Heavy footfalls and commands pass us by. I place a finger over my lips.

"Intel pool; what do you guys know?" I speak in a low volume and move closer to the two to keep quiet. 

"I woke up in their infirmary, was handcuffed to the bed. Pretended to be out cold until they removed that needle from my neck, and they even gave me a little band-aid." Scout points to a small piece of gauze taped to his neck. "Nothing interesting was happening an' I got bored, so I waited until they uncuffed me to flake out."

"Nothing significant to report at this time. I ran when I overheard that this maggot was MIA." Soldier puts his hand to his chin to think. "I don't know much more than you do, Miss Fredrickson."

"And all I know is that Medic is somewhere around here. Are you guys sure you haven't heard from or about Engie?" They both shake their head. Assessing our surroundings, I make note of the supply closet setting. It's more spacious than expected, all of the cleaning tools neatly organized and sorted on iron shelving. I view the vent on the wall. "There."

Scout spins on his heels and climbs a shelf, shifting the metal grate. "Hey, Soldier, gimme your shovel."

Soldier hands off his beloved spade and Scout wedges it between the grate and the wall, using the shovel as a make-shift prybar.

I wait in anticipation, standing by the door to listen for people. I look down at the knife in my hand. Where am I going to put this? The only logical place... I frown, wipe the blade clean of blood on my skirt, and fold it back up, glancing over at the boys to see they're preoccupied with our getaway. Sticking your hand in your shirt to hide a deadly weapon in your bra isn't the most fun, but I don't have pockets so I might as well use what I'm endowed with. While adjusting my underwire, I catch a few words from outside the door.

" _Dagummit,_ I don't think we're gonna be able to talk 'em down," Engie's voice sounds muffled from the other side of the door. Are you kidding me? Did he just fall from the sky? Ask and you shall receive, I suppose. "Knowing those two, they're not going to want to hear a word we say."

I place my ear to the chipping paint.

"I have faith that Miss Fredrickson will be the voice of reason, _mein Freund._ She'll understand the verisimilitude of our choice," Medic responds to him.

"You're getting a bit better at using bigger words, I'm proud of you." This is all a little too convenient. They don't sound distressed.

Scout stops and watches me pull the chair from the door, dropping down from his perch. Opening, I peer from behind it and there they are. The men of the hour. They pause in their tracks, a surprised expression on Engie's face and Medic pressing his eyelids together without shutting them to see three feet in front of him. I shake my hand vivaciously to call them in. "Hurry up!"

Medic glances down at Engie and nudges the Texan forward. I reach out and rope Engie in by the strap of his overalls, grabbing Medic by the arm next. Leaning against the door after closing it, I breathe out and nod to Scout to have him start with the vent again.


	10. Ten: Low-Stakes Questionnaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Medic)
> 
> Though I'm almost legally blind without my spectacles, I am capable of seeing the absolute bullshit of a plan these three had. I can't give Miss Fredrickson too much of a hard time as this is her first time being a part of an incident of this caliber. Erfahrung ist das beste Werkzeug zum Lernen, experience is the best tool for leaning.
> 
> I wasn't expecting her to take the wheel in our impromptu meeting with George, though. I honestly would've dumped it onto me or Engineer if I was in her spot, so good on her for taking initiative when no one else would.

"You seriously can't be switching sides!" Scout drops the shovel and steps up to both Medic and Engie. He scoffs and gives them a soured look.

"I can assure you we aren't," Medic sounds as though he's talking down to him. He's stern and has a hard look on his face.

"You're parading around here without raising an alarm and huntin' us, you must be!" Scout argues and motions to their clothing, the same from three days ago. We must stink or something.

"Miss Fredrickson is wearing blue, but you're not makin' much of a fuss," Engie adds and motions to me. "What we're trying to do is work the system a bit."

"Explain yourselves, maggots," Soldier points at the two of them with his demand being known.

"There's a lot of it to be done so give us a place to start," Engie tugs on his glove.

I replace the chair to the door and join. "Give us an overview. Why aren't you guys being chaperoned?"

"Your explanation on your clothing might be a bit shorter than ours. But first--" Medic steps up to me with his hands out, brushing my fluffy hair out of the way, and places one on each of my cheeks- yawing, pitching, and rolling my head. I flatten my lips and glance over to the other guys as he continues to do these movements with an amused smile on his face, a squint about his eyes. "Everything looks to be in order here... _Hast Du Schmerzen?_ "

"Huh?" I put my hands over his to have him stop.

"Sorry, uhm- Does it hurt?"

I attempt to shake my head as a response but am restricted. He laughs lightly and uses his thumbs to squish my cheeks. I pat his hands and peel his fingers off. "Stop being weird."

"Yeah, hi, hello. Still wanna know what's happening here?" Scout redirects us to our current predicament.

"This chick, Maeve, wouldn't talk to me until I changed clothes, so I did. She still wouldn't tell me anything," I quickly tell my tale. 

Engie groans and rubs the top of his hard hat. "Listen up good, all of ya. Don't harm Maeve. She looks and sounds like a bumbling bimbo and an easy target- both of which are true. Her father is the leader of this team, though, and you don't want to get on his bad side. I know you're sharing her room with her, Miss Fredrickson, and there's not much I can do about that. For right now, though, we're going to have to surrender y'all."

"Wait, you can't what?" I scoff and shake my head, "you guys a--" both Engie and Medic shift their body language in a very unsettling way. "What the hell did you two do? What do you mean _'surrender?'_ "

"It's more of a question of what _didn't_ we do." Medic turns to Soldier and snatches his shovel away. "For my safety before I tell you. Engineer and I worked for Vanguard before we switched to Fortress. They've brought us back here to work for them again and-"

"And you decided to just accept?" Scout protests in anger, deciding to try and intimidate Engie in particular because of his height advantage. "You that easy to bribe, overalls? You're just going to rat us out so you can stay easy living?"

"You're getting a little big for your britches there, boy," Engie beefs up to him just the same. "We're trying to help you."

I sigh and rub my palm against my forehead. Once again, too many things are happening at one time. "Tell us that story later. All I want to know is whether or not you're still on our side."

Engie turns to me and disregards Scout. "Of course, one-hundred percent. We'll just have to play nice for a while until we can figure something out."

"I don't trust them," Soldier speaks up, a hard look plastered to his features. He points a finger at the doctor. "Not once did you say anything to me about this when you came to bring Miss Fredrickson back from the dead."

"Wait, you died?" Scout asks.

"You done bought the farm?" Engie questions as well. 

I seethe through pressed lips. " _Later_."

"I had a gun to my head, _Dummkopf_!" Medic raises his voice and speaks as though it should've been obvious as to why he couldn't tell him. I think it's pretty obvious.

"Then you should've used code," Soldier feuds. Everyone groans.

"We don't have time for this bickering nonsense!" Engie shouts and takes off his hard hat. I cover my mouth and look away to hide my smile. "Miss Fredrickson!"

"Ah, what?" I jolt in a defensive tone, unsure if he was calling me out on my behavior.

"C'mere. Scout and Soldier, you go with Medic."

"What- What are we doing, what's the plan?" Scout speaks fast as he starts to move his feet. Engie replaces his hard hat, and Medic latches his hand onto Scout's arm. "H-Hey! Let go, ya squint!"

Engie wraps his fingers around my arm as well, Medic bribing Soldier to follow directions by returning his shovel. Engie herds us over to the door and kicks the chair away. He turns to me. "Don't. Run."

"Engineer, what are we doing?" I interrogate. He doesn't answer me and reaches for the door with his free hand. Using my nails to pinch his skin, Engie's grip loosens enough for me to slip out. I take a few steps back and swat him away. "No, tell me what we're doing."

" _Wir geben auf,_ Miss Fredrickson _._ Surrendering. Just keep your hands visible and we'll take care of the rest. I promise you an explanation when the time comes. What I can't promise is that they'll be lenient with you if you try to resist."

"There's no other choice, is there?" I huff out of frustration. 

Engie shakes his head. "We don't have the kind of time to devise one. Please, just trust us on this one."

All eyes land on me. It makes sense: the outsider who has no bias is the stalemate breaker. The only problem is that I'm also the most clueless. Team Vanguard and Team Fortress? I didn't even know that the mercenaries were separated into teams, much less that they _named_ themselves. The room spins. I knew that I'd be making a speedy descent into the deep end, but this is more of a plunge into a ravine than anything else. Being a waitress at a twenty-four/seven diner for thirteen years of your life while doing paperwork on the side gives you no training for making split-second decisions in situations such as these. Jumping into this feet first was an utter mistake. Miss Pauling was right. Four months of training isn't nearly enough and she knew it, she tried to tell me, too. I just _had_ to keep pushing. Look where that got me. 

Every plan we've had so far sounds immensely stupid. A vent escape? What is this, a prison escape slapstick silent matinee from the twenties? Having me be the divide is just as idiotic. They have too much faith in me. The weight is unbearable.

I flex my fingers and ball my fists, sighing. "You guys are leading."

"I'm sorry for handling you this way," Engie apologizes and wraps his fingers around my arm, gripping me tightly and tugging me slightly over to his side. He turns to Scout as we start walking. "Struggle a little, makes it more believable."

The Bostoner starts thrashing but is quickly stopped when Medic squeezes harder. "I said _'a little.'_ "

"Loosen up some, you're cutting off my blood flow," Scout wiggles around more.

Engie grumbles. "Son, if you don't--" My feet stammer as I try to keep up with him. Vanguard mercenaries are still searching for us as indicated by their conversation that's audible from the stairwell. Different suggestions are given from different minds, but all of them stop speaking and turn to peer at us as we pause at the foot of the steps. We look down at them on the landing, their faces shifting into various emotions.

Medic yanks Soldier and Scout closer to him, speaking as though he's enthused to have captured us. " _Ich denke, wir haben gefunden, wonach Sie suchen!_ "

"So, you've found 'em." I turn my head and see Maeve quickly approaching with anger in her saunter. Her arms swing furiously as she stomps over. I back up into Engie as she nears, unsure of what she'll do. He raises a cautionary hand to keep her away if needed. "I bet all of ya can guess that we're not very happy with ya, especially me."

"Maeve, Maeve, no need to worry about it. They're right here, in our custody," Medic speaks up. 

"Convenient considering they're your old pals, ain't it?"

Medic simply smiles. "All the better to get that _nasty_ Fortress thinking out of their head, hmm? _Affe siehe Affe tun._ "

He's confident in himself and his abilities to deceive people. It hardly requires much tact to out-brain Maeve, though. She calms herself down and mumbles some nonsense into her radio. Chatter and buzz cease and the base became cold and emotionless once again. My nerves settle. The vent escape suddenly sounds very appealing again. Maeve is honed in on me and Engie more than I'd prefer. "My father has made some time in his schedule to see y'all. Immediately."

I flex my hands a few times. We're going to get walked to our death now. I already died once, I don't want to do it again, I have things to take care of. On the off chance, we're only getting a slap on the wrist. Bailing at the last moment would be a viable means of escape if our fate is unsavory. Presumably.

Maeve sighs and motions for us to follow her as she starts stepping down the stairs. Soldier's arm brushes past me as Medic escorts them first. Maeve barks at the remaining crowd to go back to their posts, muttering a rant about the lack of self-thinking among the general population of mercenaries. Medic glances at Engie cheekily, the two of them flattening their lips as they try to refrain from laughing. Maeve turns around to look at us, and the two of them quickly try to act naturally. We're doomed.

"Dell, don't ya know it's rude to handle a lady like that?" Maeve points to her arm to mirror where he's holding me.

"Uh," he looks at me nervously, "I just wouldn't want her running off."

"Oh, I don't think she will," she coos slightly. "Right? Just got a lil' excited, hmm?"

I keep flexing my hands in anxiety, nodding and trying to keep them in a fist. "Yeah, it's out of my system."

Engie lets go, and I rub my arm slightly, my skin having a ghostly imprint of his presence. Soldier and Scout refrain from having their disdain of this unfair treatment known. I slide my hands over my neck to signal for them to cut it out. We slow down as a group as Maeve halts us at a door that's far more reinforced than the others. She bends over and pushes some hair out of her face as she punches in a code into a keypad at the door. Soldier pushes up against Medic to prevent her rear end from touching him. She mutters the numbers, but I wasn't quick enough to catch anything more than a two and a seven at the end of the combo. The door clicks.

"Don't be rude to my father, he's only trying to help y'all." She nudges us inside and stands in the door frame. "Dad, here they are, the Fortress boys... And their womanly companion."

Where did her accent go? I slit my eyes slightly. Even _she_ knows that I'm not a part of the team.

An older man with thinning brown hair sits at a desk in a dark room surrounded by large computer banks with our briefcase sitting in front of him, open. I sniff and try to keep a stoic look. We usher ourselves in, Medic removing his hands from both Scout and Soldier. They spread out as much as they can.

"Thank you, Maeve," he sighs and shuts our briefcase, sliding it behind his desk. "Am I right to assume that Miss Fredrickson is the ring leader here?"

I spot Medic and Engie's gaze for how I should answer. Neither gives me a cue. "Ah- er--"

"I'd call her a commanding officer," Soldier speaks for me. I stare blankly at him.

"Then I'm correct, right?"

Panic burrows into my stomach. Or is that hunger? "Yes, you'd be correct."

He holds out his hand to reference the chair in front of his desk. "Take a seat then. The rest of you can sit on those couches over there."

Assuming that I'm not crazy and totally justified in basing this off of two situations where my life was in danger, I stand by my notion that "taking a seat" is bad news. I approach cautiously, reluctantly sliding into the chair. Everyone else slowly makes their way over behind me to sit on the sofas. Looking over my shoulder, I see them all sitting on the edge of the cushions. At least I know that they're scared for me. The man leans forward and turns on his desk lamp so we can see each other better. He's a pyro like Adam. I twiddle my thumbs in my lap.

"I'm the leader of second-generation Team Vanguard, George," he starts. I almost snort, George isn't very intimidating, I stay stone-faced. "I assume you have questions as I do."

"That would also be correct," I agree.

"I'll let you ask one first."

"Why are we here?" I blurt.

He shrugs and leans back in his seat. "Straight to the point. To be truthful, we only need Dr. Humboldt and Mr. Conagher to be here with us. The rest of you were just collateral. You'd round up the rest of your gang and come for us. Team Fortress is a nuisance to deal with at best."

I hear them shifting positions behind me. "Why do they need to be here?"

"I believe it's _my_ turn to ask a question," he states. I dig my thumbnail into the side of my other thumb. "Who started your little botched escape attempt?"

My nose flares slightly as I sniff, clasp my hands together, and squeeze them. "That would be me."

"You might have lead it, but who was the one that initiated it."

"Me," I answer again, trying to keep a straight face.

George looks behind me and eyes one of them. "Is that true?" I turn to them as well. None of them move except Scout, who looks over to Medic to avoid making eye-contact with George. Engie rests his head on his hand, his elbow on the arm of the chair, as he looks down- almost as though he's pondering selling Scout out. George focuses on me again. "Interesting. Your turn."

"Are we able to stay in contact with each other?" Medic asks from the couch, folding his legs and crossing his arms, tapping his finger with a hard look.

"Hmm, I think it fair that your friends get to ask some things as well. Yes, but only on some conditions. You're not allowed to bunk together. Dr. Humboldt and Mr. Conagher will be roomed separately but are allowed to have a room all on their own. Miss Fredrickson here isn't allowed to move anywhere as co-habitation is forbidden here. You'll all be given jobs within our ranks. Given that you behave, you'll be allowed visiting hours if you're being chaperoned. Lunch hours are the only hours you don't need a watchman. Think it fair that I now mention that you don't get any more questions when I run out of my own."

I inhale sharply. This sounds like a prison. Well. we're kind of prisoners at a base level anyway. It's not a long shot to assume, and he's being rather benevolent with allowing me the chance to gain knowledge from him. He seems slippery enough to count me asking how many questions he has left as one of my own. Same thing for if we can talk to prioritize knowledge. 

"Who's your contractor?" He presses on with our little Q and A. "Who assigns jobs to your mercenaries?"

"That would be me once again." There's no way I'm throwing Miss Pauling under the bus.

"Who was doing it before you?"

"My turn," I switch it on him with a stern tone. "Are there any other RED mercenaries that you brought here with us?"

"No," he quickly claims. "Who was handing out contracts before you? And don't lie, we know that you've just come onto the job."

"I refuse to answer that question," I sit up straight in my chair, fully aware that my previous plan to gain intel has been thrashed by my choice of action. 

He hums. "Then answer me this: Do you know anything about any Australium?"

My body freezes at his tone. I have no clue what that is, but it sounds like a juicy little tidbit of confidential gossip. Valuable information means that you're given VIP status. I feign confidence. "And what if I do?"

Engie groans and stands up. "I think I'd be the one you should be asking."

"Oh no, I already know that Mr. Conagher, please sit back down. I'm asking your colleague."

"I'm not answering anything else," I hastily claim.

"I'm getting reports that you stabbed one of my spies. Who did that?" We all remain silent.

"Me," I ring again. He smacks his lips. Team Vanguard treats women here differently than they do the men, that's clear by Maeve's willingness to be nice to me and Adam's clear hatred and disgust for Soldier. I'd be able to get away with a lot more things than the guys, Specifically looking at Scout. He just looks like the perfect person to make an example out of. Also, I just happen to have blood on my skirt and a knife in my bra to corroborate my story.

"Okay then, you're lucky I'll let that one slide, just this time. Would it be too much to ask those two what their names are?"

"Scout."

"Soldier."

George smirks. "Class-calling is idiotic. That might work for you when it's just the nine of you, but we use real names in Vanguard."

"Hey, pal, I d--" Scout starts to argue, but I cut him off.

"Scout's name is Jeremy and Soldier's name is Jane."

"We'll call him John," George settles. I roll my eyes slightly. He picks up his radio and calls Adam over. My eye twitches. The door beeps a few times before he opens it. "Mr. Conagher, Dr. Humboldt, please stay here. There are some issues we must discuss. Adam, get them fed and back to their rooms it's getting late."

"Yes, sir," he lowly grumbles in compliance as he holds an ice pack to his forehead, annoyed with us as a trio. We pick up and leave without our only links. I catch up to Scout and have him lean down slightly to whisper to him.

"If you can help it, don't give these guys a hard time," I warn. "I can only cover for you so much."

He scoffs. "Fine, only because you asked nicely."

"The three of you better shut the fuck up. You've been an immense pain in the ass for the few hours you've been here, not counting how absolutely awful it was to deal with _you_ on the train for three shitty days," Adam points at Soldier as he complains about us to us.

"I told you to get out of the way," Soldier says.

"You beat my fucking skull in with a _shovel._ "

"I said 'excuse me' and used my manners when I didn't have to, you're just looking for an excuse to be rude," Soldier snatches Adam's bag of ice. "Listen here, cupcake: ice packs are for polite people only."

Adam fumes. "You're fucking starving for dinner."


	11. Eleven: A Team Meeting but We Get Nothing Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Soldier, who is one of the ones not getting anything done)
> 
> This Adam guy is not happy as I thought he would be to have gotten me as his bunkmate. He got inexplicably mad when I woke him up at 0500 sharp for PT, and he got even angrier when I left him alone and started doing pushups by myself! He made me dress myself and only true military men would know that PT is easier without clothes... He refused to take me down to their mess hall, so he had some other people do it. Can't even fill out his own corp duties.

I'm breathing, but it's hard to hold in any air. I feel light-headed and cold, sweat excreting from my skin. Why is this becoming a problem now? I was fine with it before.

Three days? 

I seriously couldn't have just been _dead_. If Medic hadn't revived me, that'd still be the case. I could very well not be here right now. I didn't even know I was dead that entire time. It only felt like a few moments. No, it didn't. It felt normal. I wouldn't have even known that I was dead had the Miss Pauling in my head not made that clear. I could've lived in that purgatory limbo none the wiser of my mortality status as I labor away in a made-up recreation of my old workplace. I would've continued being a waitress at a diner until time itself stopped. I wouldn't have known that I'd never feel the warmth of the sunshine ever again. 

And yet, I'm here. I tremor in uncontrollable dread. The pillow of helplessness smothers me, trapping my fear within my body. I hold myself and pull my legs into a fetal position as I turn onto my side. The room is cold, and my blanket does nothing to prevent it from nipping at my toes. I stare at the wall, my eyes creating shapes from the stucco pattern. I cast a shadow of the soft yellow light that emanates from the flood lamps outside that light up their shipment yard. 

Maeve snores gently on her side of the room before turning over and going silent. If I start crying now, she's going to wake up. Despite being thirty-one and completely grown, I should be given a freebie considering. Tears obscure my vision before I even give myself the go-ahead, rolling over the bridge of my nose and speckling the bedsheets as I don't have a pillow to lay my head on. I lift one hand to my mouth and sniffle. The shivering makes it worse. This is stupid.

I sit up and chatter my teeth as I slide out of bed, slowly inching to the bathroom. Admittedly, having a bathroom attached to the room is a step up from the fort. I turn the doorknob to rest the door in the frame before flipping on the lights to wash my face with warm water. The temperature burns my fingertips slightly, but it's soothing to my skin as my body stops quivering from the cold. My stomach still feels wonky and hunger is settling in. I wasn't exactly famished for the entire day, probably from my systems being on the fritz, but now it's settling down. Adam refused to feed us, and I don't think any of us are willing to complain about it later to anyone. The guy acts like a delinquent teenager. I'll let it slide as long as I get breakfast when the time comes.

The soles of my feet pat against the bathroom tiling as I pace around while drying my face with a towel. Standing in the light relieves me from any ache I'm feeling. I'm still afraid, though. I'd better head back to bed. Flipping off the light, I emerge from the bathroom and step over to my bed, getting startled slightly by Maeve moving. Standing still is always a good tactic when sneaking around at night. She remains still, and I turn to look out the window, a silhouette peering in through the glass. I stare at it. It's not threatening, a slender frame watching me move about the room at some obscure hour of the night. My feet stay plastered to my spot as we ogle each other from our respective sides of the glass. My eyes blink. It's gone. " _Okay._ "

My legs wobble as I climb back into bed, sitting with my back against the wall. I wrap my blanket around me and keep my glim trained on the rest of the room. Sleep slowly trickles on me. I start shivering again. Smells of birdseed and sterile alcohol invade my scent. My arms burn as though they've been cut, and Sniper's battle cry of savagery and acrimony rings in my ears. Throat burns and hip pings with a twinge of pain, glimmering shining in my eye from his blade as it's about to plunge into my socket. I jump and gasp, turning to see the morning sun blazing a firey-red into the desert sky. Maeve's alarm clock beeps, and she sluggishly rises from her slumber. Taking her time, she presses it off and looks over at me while sorting out her tangerine hair. A yawn escapes her, causing me to yawn as well.

"Oh," she rings. "You're still here."

I squint at her. Her country accent is no longer present. "Where else would I be?" I hoarsely respond.

"I don't know... elsewhere? I kind of expected you to try and escape," she says still without an accent. "You don't look so good. How did you sleep?"

"I didn't," I declare, my voice gravelly and weak. "Where did your accent go?"

She laughs a little and stands up to make her bed. "Between you and me, I only used it because I overheard the guy I'm fond of say he liked southern girls."

"But he would've known you were faking it if you had spoken to him before," I speak and slowly stand up with my blanket still draped over my arms. 

She straightens her back. "Wait, I've just been telling him that I've always had that accent."

"You should probably drop it. It's not worth it to pretend you have it to please someone else."

"I was getting kind of tired of it, anyway."

She finishes up fixing her bed and walks over to her drawers, picking out clothes for herself. I inhale deeply and look out the window, thinking back to the figure on the other side. I think it might've been friendly. There's a knock at the door, and Maeve yells for them to come in. The hinges squeak, and I turn around to see who it is. Farland approaches, slightly hunched over as he has his rifle strapped to his back. Why is the old guy a sniper, wouldn't he just shake all of the time and miss?

"Your father wants her to work with you. Show her your everyday duties."

"Okay, Farland," she says, still digging through her drawer.

"Get her down to mess first so she and her friends can have their little pow-wow," he rambles slightly and looks as though he might fall over. He wasn't like this yesterday.

"I got it, Farland," Maeve repeats. He leaves after taking one last look at me and closes the door behind him. My temporary roommate holds out a stack of clothes for me. 

"I don't, y'know," I hesitantly hum. "I didn't really think to bring my own set of undergarments before I left."

"That's fine, I've got some for you." I look at her dubiously. She snorts. "They aren't used, silly!"

I reluctantly accept them. "... _Thanks_."

"You can use the bathroom first, I'll make your bed for you."

She holds her hand out to take my shroud of insomnia, and I happily rid myself of it, turning to go get ready. It almost feels normal, participating in this daily ritual. My body is lagging behind my brain which is also lagging behind _me_. Sleep could've been nice, but Sniper had to go and ruin that. Sure, I could blame myself for having that small episode of a nightmare- or just curse the Devil as my parents told me to do for every small inconvenience- but it would take a bit of the stress off to push it onto someone else.

I leave the bathroom, clad in a somewhat tacky powder blue polka dot shirt, and a black skirt. I am going to despise the color by lunchtime. I sit on my bed and tie on my only pair of heels, waiting for Maeve. I sneak my knife from my nightstand drawer back into my bra while Maeve is gone. She steps out, wearing clothes that are opposite to mine; a polka dot black skirt and a solid blue shirt. She looks pleased with herself. I curl the side of my mouth to showcase any kind of emotion to her. Upon exiting, she collects her radio and beckons me over to lead me downstairs. She doesn't carry around a binder like I do which sounds a little outrageous. Maybe it's just because they're more organized than we are.

Medic and Engie mill about around the corner from their common room, trying to collect us all before we walk in. They seem rather comfortable with their blue get-ups, Engie wearing a hoodie with his class emblem, and Medic wears a pale arctic blue lab coat with shiny cerulean gloves to mirror his RED attire. He's still left without glasses and squints at everyone who passes. His face must hurt.

"Did you not get enough sleep? You're looking kinda--" Engie asks as I approach him, using his hands to gesture toward my sunken face as he grits his teeth. I shake my head. "Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to say it like th--"

"Why are we waiting here?" I ask to brush off his previous question, speaking in a lower volume around Maeve.

"You don't have to worry about Maeve bein' too much of an issue," Engie whispers back before speaking normally. "Jeremy and Ja-- John, John, would spark some trouble if they went in by themselves- same with you. It's a lot easier if you three go in with us. That shirt looks good on you."

"Thanks. How come you two have free-range of the place"

"We'll get into that once we sit down," he fiddles with his glove. "You didn't sleep last night?"

"Nightmares and sleep demons, it's fine" I sigh.

Medic turns to listen in. "That doesn't sound too good."

"Which part?"

"Both."

"Ah," I nod. "The sleep demon seemed nice though. He just sat outside the window for a few moments before disappearing." The three of them all look at me with different emotions. "What?"

"You're telling me," Maeve shudders, "there was someone outside the window watching us sleep?"

"More me than you. I wasn't even sleeping. I don't know. I'm just chalking it up to the fact I was dead for three days and am emotionally drained."

"Still gonna need the story on that," Scout interjects as he joins us with Soldier, both of them adorned in a blue garb and being escorted by unmarked BLUs. Both wear jackets, Scout's with the scout emblem on his arms and Soldier wearing one without any markers. Maeve shoos the BLUs away. Scout pulls the brim of his hat down. "Why is she sticking with us?"

"Don't worry about Maeve," Engie reiterates.

I tap him on the shoulder. "Are you sure? I mean, her father _is_ the head honcho and everything. You're the one who told us--"

"Maeve, can you promise me that you won't tell your father about anything you hear us say?" Medic questions, almost as though he's playing.

She nods. "I can do that."

"I think that's a viable enough example," he smiles. I furrow my brow, he continues. "She was raised in Teufort."

"Lead-poisoned Teufort?" I confirm.

"The one and only!" She chirps.

We all nod, but I still reserve my suspicions. 

"I just meant not to get her directly involved in any schemes you might be planning. Do your heavy-lifting, ya feel me? Let her get you places, but carry out your own business," Engie clarifies. Medic leads us into the common room, all eyes falling on us as silence sweeps over the area. Medic ushers us over to the kitchen, heads pivoting to follow our movements. Maeve barks a spiel about respect, and everyone goes back to minding their business.

There's an echo that bounces off of the arch in the ceiling. Everything here is so much larger than it is back at the fort, especially in the building layout and manpower. Maeve tells us to sit down at an empty, circular table and goes off by herself to get our food for us, despite Engie offering help. He places himself next to me, Soldier on his other end. Scout slides over to my free side and nudges me with his elbow. "Tell us about you dying."

"I got my neck snapped and then Medic revived me," I shrug.

"That's it? What did it look like? What did you see?" He pesters further.

"It looked and smelled like my shitty apartment. That's pretty much it." He rolls his hand to get me to continue. "And I guess Miss Pauling was there?"

"If you saw Miss Pauling in the afterlife, does that mean she's truly an angel?" Scout tries to joke. No one laughs nor answers. I lid my eyes as the bright lights begin to give me a headache.

Scout scratches the tip of his nose. "You're looking, uh, a bit _lifeless_ inside, Miss Fredrickson." 

I flip my hair over my shoulder. "No, just sleep-deprived."

All of them are rather unamused with my tale from the afterlife. I wouldn't put it past them, it _does_ sound pretty lame. Medic is next to Scout. "You mentioned a _'sleep demon'_ , _ja?_ "

"Yeah, it was solely looking at me. We stared at each other for a while before I blinked and it disappeared. It was just a dark figure. Looked sorta like a human. It seemed nice. It gave off a feeling that it wasn't primarily there to scare me." Suspicious eyes dart around the table to each other. I'm not used to seeing Soldier with his helmet off, his strong hyper-widened eyes are giving me the heebie-jeebies. "You guys are acting like you know something. I don't like being in the dark."

"You're not making a lick of sense, and you're starting to worry us a bit," Engie places his hand on my shoulder. 

Scout drums his fingers on the edge of the table as he cautiously scans the mess hall while bopping his head, eyeing down anyone who dares to meet his gaze. I try not to move my head too much to keep a low profile, but I know that we're the center of attraction. All of our enemies are engrossed with our being here, many of them whispering to each other and making crude comments. Maeve comes back with sealed containers and silverware. I address Engie. "Your hand is still on my shoulder."

"Oh, sorry," he quietly apologizes, removing himself but moving his chair slightly closer to me. Maeve titters.

"Aw, you two are cute," she swoons. 

"We're not together," I vacantly put. The bags under my eyes are becoming weightier.

"Sure you aren't."

She sets our containers down in front of us, assuming her spot in between Medic and Soldier. Engie frowns at her. Scout pops open his container. I gag, a strong and repugnant stench attacking my nostrils. I clammer for a napkin, holding it to my mouth and nose. Everyone but Medic reacts negatively, the doctor simply stirring his meal and taking a spoonful.

"Miss Fredrickson, _ich weiß nicht, wie ich Ihnen helfen soll._ " 

"I don't understand why you start talking in Non-American as if we understand you." Soldier kicks Medic under the table which jostles the top and makes me straighten my spine as I was leaning over, ready to close my eyes.

He takes some time on translating. "I honestly don't know how to help you with that, Miss Fredrickson. Sensitivity to smells is a new one."

"Then what are you good for?" Soldier growls.

"Should we not be using this time together to talk strategy?" I intrude, removing the napkin by a hair to speak precisely before replacing it.

Engie pushes his food aside in consideration of my current condition. He sighs and turns to me. "To answer your question from earlier, we're highly respected 'cause we're the only ones in our class here. Those BLUs you buried in the desert? Turns out those three were the last of their class. I don't know if it was some kinda suicide mission they were sent on, but they needed us here to fill their place. It might also be a ploy to gain our allegiance and to create a divide within our group."

"I guess I'm wearing a dead man's clothes, then," Scout nonchalantly mentions. He continues eating, and I slide over to Engie a bit more in my chair. Our knees are almost touching.

"We also know that we're here for Austr-" Engie grumbles at Medic to stop talking. The doctor continues. "I'm here for my experimental work and lack of ethical insight, and Engineer has been brought here because his G--"

"Because of my history with buildings. We're out of time." Engie references the clearing room. I slowly remove my napkin as I feel like I've collected myself enough to not dry-heave bile on the table. " _Dammit._ "

"Maeve, can you bring Miss Fredrickson by the clinic when you have the time?" Medic carries the same demeanor as Scout- carefree and lackadaisical.

"What do you need her for?"

Kinda forgot she was here. "I have to make sure she's not broken. Would be a shame if she was, she's my latest ongoing spontaneous trial at the moment."

"Spontaneous trial... Does that mean I'll combust?" Everyone worriedly glares at me from around the table. 

"Assuming you were talkin' sideways out of your ass, Miss Fredrickson," Engie chugs us along, "I've also got a thing or two to discuss with you. I don't think we're all of the same lunch shift. If we are, make sure to meet up."

"And if we aren't?" Soldier asks.

"We'll figure something out. There's a lot you can do to bypass some of their... their _Sicherheitsvorkehrungen_ ," Medic speaks giddily at the mayhem he could cause.

"We still have no clue what that means," Soldier complains.

"Fill in the blank, John," Engie grumbles. Soldier puffs out his lips and looks down to think.

Medic rubs his hands together. "George is one of the only competent ones. He's the one we should be the most worried about."

"We achieved _nothing_ here," I disclose, the guys not having any response to challenge me. "Let's just all try to find out whatever we can out there and use our time better next chance we get- given that there will be one."

BLU mercenaries arrive and break us up, making sure that everyone gets to where they're being assigned. Maeve and I stay put for a while longer until she stands to clear off the table. I help her, returning all of the untouched food to their kitchen and throwing the utensils into a bin with other dirty dishes. We exit into the hallway, and I yawn with a stretch to try and keep my energy up. "Where to first?"

"Nowhere, really," she hums.

I blink. "What do you mean? Farland said you had duties."

"I just wait until someone calls for me and then I show up."

"But- But you said you were a walking filing cabinet," I sputter some.

"That's what my dad calls me- or at least what he told me to tell people. I still do things around here, but only when people say they need it done."

"What do you usually do until someone calls you?"

"Whatever I want, really." She flattens her skirt and adjusts her shirt collar. 

I purse my lips and shift my weight to one foot, placing one behind the other. "Does that mean we can go anywhere?"

"Sure. Did you have a place in mind?"

I have to think about this. I could either go and meet up with the guys or use this precious opportunity to do some snooping. I'd probably be of better help if I do some sleuthing first and relay later. I'm of no help to any of them if I sit by idly on the sidelines while watching them labor away. Vanguard needs to have record storage of some kind. "Do you have a library?"

"Mm-hmm," she confirms. "Need something to read?"

"Uh," my jaw slacks. "Yeah."

Lying to Maeve is supposedly a lost cause, but I don't want to gamble on the validity of Engie and Medic's claims. Sorting records would give me an excuse to be scouring for information more than saying it's leisure reading material. Maeve prompts me to follow her and we come into a less-populated wing of the building, the passages growing narrower and the ceiling comes down lower. Cracks run along the foundation pillars we pass, floor tiles yellow, and wall liners turn a dingy brown as they run across the floor. It smells of rust, and there's a moldy cloud that hangs in the air. The floor tiles eventually run out, the walkway turning to wood that feels weak and rotted. Creaks and shifting nails signify that they may not have much left in their lifespan.

"I already told you two chuckleheads that I'm not doing your office work!" Scout sounds off in a combative tone. "Screw this, I'm leaving."

His statement is immediately followed by a punch landing and a cart of books tipping over into the hall. I push past Maeve and run ahead to walk in on a mercenary with a heavy weapons patch on his shirt holding up a bloody fist, a lingering soldier with a diminishing smile, and Scout sprawled on the floor while covering up a bloody nose.

"Scout!" I get on the ground next to him on my knees to tend to him, turning a blind eye to the threat in the room. "Hey, hey, let me look at it. Are you okay?"

"No," he buzzes, wincing as I hold his face and graze my fingertips over the swollen bridge of his red-stained tender nose. "It's not broken, though."

"How are you sure?"

"Just take me to Medic," he breathes heavily out of his mouth and sits up to let the blood drip forward. "He can fix me ub, no broblem."

The heavy grabs Scout by his hair and forces to look up at him. I huff and shove him away, standing up and cracking my knuckles to fight when he puffs up his chest to seem more frightening. Heavy is way larger than the two of them combined, I could take at least one if I had slept enough. I'm not too confident in my abilities at the current moment, but I still stand strong. He and the soldier laugh at my invitation to fisticuffs before ceasing. "Just trying to teach your friend here a lesson about being obedient. Never seen a wimpy little _scunt_ like him with so much talk for such little action. You're not seeing the medic, though, because we won't take him."

"Then Maeve and I will j--"

"Maeve isn't going to take him, either."

Maeve stands with her arms akimbo. "Tell me why I won't do that."

"Your father told us not to," the soldier smugly lies. Maeve, pudding-brained, accepts.

"Well, if he said so... Sorry, Miss Fredrickson." 

I contemn. That little trick will for sure come in handy later if I need it; the one about forging her father's words. I keep my knuckles white as I press my fists inward harder.

"We're going to leave you guys on ' _packrat'_ duty for a while. We'll come back when we feel like it," the heavy taunts and makes Maeve go along with them. He calls down the hall. "And you better pick up those books you knocked over!" 


	12. Twelve: Disappearing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Scout)
> 
> Shit, uh, okay. Wasn't expecting the wizard to be here, and I definitely wasn't expecting to kill a guy in a hallway with a boxcutter today. I mean come on, seriously? It's only my second day here and I'm already committing murder. Like, shit, give me a break, I literally just got done getting kidnapped yesterday after getting a needle removed from my neck. Really hoping nobody finds the giant blood pool we left on the floor.

Well, this sucks. Scout stands up and catches blood in his palm, the bandages wound around his hands soaking up the gore. I start unraveling it and bunching it up without touching the blood and hand it back to Scout to use as a tissue. He nasally thanks me and continues to take shallow breaths out of his mouth. I walk around him and start picking up the books on the ground.

"What are you doing down here?" Scout buzzes as he leans over to use his one free hand to help.

"Treason," I smile. 

"What does that mean?" He asks.

"We're betraying people," I loosely define. "Thought the perfect place to start would be where they would most likely keep secrets."

"Alright, I'm down," Scout nods his head and hands me a book. "Where do we start?"

"Records," I say, lazily stacking the hardcovers so that they're at least out of the way. I take Scout's hat from the floor and hand it to him. "Preferably in paper format rather than video."

"Oh, I'm not gonna helb you with all of that reading."

"Uhm, yes you will," I dust off my hands. "I'll even teach you how to read if I need to."

"I know how to read... Just not like you." Scout takes a moment to take in his surroundings while replacing his hat, and I do the same. Circular shelves are filled with reels of footage, no help to me there. There are hoards of books everywhere as all of the cases are in mass disarray, no rhyme or reason to their placement. The carpet feels somewhat slippery, so I add a bit more caution and watch where I step. The lights dim and fade out the further down I look, the room stretching as I feast my eyes on the shadows. 

"Looks a little sbooky," Scout rubs the back of his neck. 

"A little adventure never hurt," I propose, shrugging. He goes first, and I follow after. It gets exceedingly difficult as we press on, the wish of a flashlight at the forefront of my mind. Not paying attention in front of me, I bump into Scout and grab ahold of his jacket to regain my balance. I quickly let go when I remember that he's wearing the clothes of the scout I assaulted. The corner of an iron cart jabs into my hip and makes me jolt in surprise. "Why did you stop?"

He doesn't respond to me at first and searches for something, grumbling and using a book to toss at the overhead light. I duck and use my arms to cover my head when it comes down, stepping as far away from the sound of impact that was somewhere to my right. That did _something_ as the lights flicker a few times and hum as they manage to stay on.

"Guess I should be classed with Engie, huh?" He snickers, and I can't help but smile while shaking my head.

"Best stick to whatever it is you're doing now." Although dim, it's better than nothing. I groan as all of the shelves down this way are barren. All there is are normal books. No binders, no files; nothing. Scout ventures on further and kneels to pick up a metal bookend, placing one end under his foot and attempting to bend it. He deems it sturdy and keeps it on his person, taking his hand away from his nose, looking down and feeling no more dripping, throwing the bandages aside. Grimacing, I continue following. He hops onto a desk and jams the bookend in between a vent cover and a wall.

"Are you serious?" I chuckle.

The grate pops off and clatters when it hits the floor. "Hey, you were the one who thought of it first."

"What about the other mercenaries?" 

Scout flips his hand out to tell me not to worry about it. "We'll be back. We're just going to do a bit of recon."

He puts his hand out to help me up, but I refuse. "I don't have shorts under this skirt, it'd be best if you go first."

"We're able to fit side-by-side, I don't think that'll be much of an issue," he emphasizes his hand again, and I accept, watching my feet as I step up onto the desk. "Do you have a weabon?"

"Do you?" I turn the question on him. 

"No, only my fists. You still have that knife?" I nod. "Where?"

"Places," I tease with a shrug and boost myself into the vent, Scout pushing my feet up so I can climb in. I whistle as I dust cobwebs and dust bunnies off of me while waiting for Scout. It takes him a few minutes, but he slithers in next to me and shows me his boxcutter. Retracting the blade, Scout begins to army crawl through the metal tunnel, taking us far enough up to come to a fork. A fan blows air at us at the turn, so we continue straight, stopping every once a while when we believe we've made too much noise. I lay on my side during one of our frequent breaks and hold my head up with my arm. "You do vent recon often?"

"Hey, keeb it down," Scout whispers. I cover my mouth. "And, yeah. Sby and Sniber do it, too, sometimes. I'm usually the one who does most of the footwork, though. I'm the one who runs into the action before everyone else, take a few bullets, and knock out a chunk of the obbosing team. Sometimes I even cabture intelligence and control boints all on my own. I'm _kinda_ the most imbortant asset to the team."

He flatters himself and I laugh a little out loud, speaking nasally to mock him. "It's a team, everyone is _imbortant_."

He sniffs and hovers his fingers over his nose as if he'll touch it. "I guess if you wanna look at it like that."

"We might be able to find where Medic is holed up while we're in here so we can get your schnoz looked at."

"He might be in the clinic. That's where I came from when I started running. I don't know if the vents go there, though."

He flips over and starts crawling again, I keep talking while trying to keep up. "There's obviously a lot of mercenary jargon I don't understand, so what's a 'S _cunt?'_ "

"It's just a name other classes use to rag on scouts. All classes have a name like that. Some of them are only for when a class uses a certain weabon. Let's say... A heavy uses a shotgun: that's a fat scout because heavies are known for using their giant miniguns instead of a shotgun like a scout does."

"Oh," I nod as if I understand in the slightest.

He holds his hand up to stop me. "Wait, did you hear that?" I lay still and exhale sharply through my nose as I feel a spider web delicately lay on my lip. All I can hear is electrical humming and the swishing of fan blades. Scout is adamant that he heard something. We inch forward and come upon another fork, Scout taking the turn this time. The duct gets narrower and the metal under my arms gets colder as we press on. Voices draw closer. "That, you hear it?"

"Yup," I verify. 

"That voice sounds familiar. I think I know who it is," he growls.

"Who?"

"Bad news."

The conversation gets clearer the further we go, Scout shifting his body to one side of the orifice and letting me rest beside him, looking down and eavesdropping on the conversation below. I brush my hair behind my ear and take a look down into the room. It looks more like a den encased in rock, primitive compared to the clean and advanced look that the rest of the Vanguard facility has. There are unmarked boxes stacked in various ways, books open to unrecognizable symbols and diagrams, statuettes are lazily strewn about the place, and bottles sealed with corks of different colors are placed around in the same manner as the figures. George and Farland walk into view. 

" _ **Who goes there?**_ " A powerful and echo-riddled voice speaks with mystery and a grim tone. 

"Drop it, Merasmus," George casually says.

" _Oh_ , George," Merasmus also casually speaks, the echo still attached. Is... Is that how he normally talks? "What do you need now?"

"A job done."

"As you usually do."

George picks up a statuette and examines it as he rotates it in his hands. "I need you to get rid of the rest of Team Fortress and also--"

"Now, George, you know that _**Merasmus**_ is limited to only so much magic during this time of the year," Merasmus continues, rolling his R's in his name.

I look over at Scout and mouth. " _Magic?"_

He nods and mouths back. " _Wizard._ " Wizard? That's one way to grab my attention. I turn to keep watching.

"You also still owe me quite a bit, Merasmus. Or did you forget our deal about me paying off your debts to the Coyotes?"

"No no, I haven't forgotten," Merasmus floats into view. I can't see his face too well as I can only see the very top of their heads. He has an animal skull for a hat a rather globulous nose. He wears a robe that looks a bit like a dress. "I'm just reminding you that my eldritch powers come in bursts under specific conditions. What is it that you need? I might be able to provide some sort of spelling."

George sets the totem down, and Farland wanders slightly off to the side. Merasmus beckons George over. The BLU continues. "Something to eliminate the rest of Team Fortress and also something to alter memories."

Merasmus picks up a book. "I've said it before; Magic: is not an exact science. You already saw how much of a failure that the _last_ spell was. They all just went back to normal and it didn't even do much before those two women canceled it out. Wasn't expecting the two of them to be such a catalyst..."

"So we just need to get rid of the woman then?" 

"No. I mean, you can if you want, but she won't affect the spell this time around. Mind magic is considerably harder to cast than the ones I usually do to try and kill Team Fortress. Anything can mess up mind magic." Merasmus flips the book open to a page.

"So the previous spell is worthless then? The one that I made you cast for the woman?" George asks.

"Effectively. Especially considering you got impatient and raided anyway..."

"Can I see the vessel for it?"

Merasmus scans the area and holds up his hand, the figurine poofing into it. He hands it to the BLU who throws it on the ground and pulls out a gun, shooting it. I jolt slightly, and Merasmus lifts his foot and holds his leg, dropping his item. He holsters his gun again. "So now you can redirect your magic to something more useful to me."

Merasmus nervously chuckles and bends over to pick up his hardcover. "Ah, yes. A spell to make someone forget something, is that what you're looking for?"

"I guess. What do we need for it?"

"Just a drop of blood on this page. This is more simple than the other one I did for you." I feel my eyelids grow heavy. This is leaps and bounds more boring than I wanted. I yawn. They stop talking.

"Hear something?" George asks.

Merasmus looks around. "No. As I was saying--"

Scout glances at me with gritted teeth. I move my hand over my mouth and furrow my brows. I zone out of what Merasmus is saying and take a moment to look over at Farland. He was acting a bit strange earlier today and he's still showcasing some of that behavior. He presented as a stronger older man despite having grey hair and wrinkles on top of his wrinkles, but he's looking rather frail. He hobbles as he walks and his fingers curl inward as though they're wrought with arthritis. I remove my hand from my mouth and tap Scout on the shoulder, leaning inward to him.

" _The sniper is acting a little weird_ ," I whisper.

" _He's an old guy, old guys always act weird._ "

I shake my head. " _Not this one._ "

Farland keeps his distance from George and Merasmus, both of which have their backs to him. He slowly approaches, transferring his rifle to his back and shakily pulling a throwing knife and a watch from his pocket. He flips open the watch and stands up straight, a small cloud of smoke changing his appearance. I tighten my grip on Scout's shoulder as the smoke clears. It's Spy, dressed in a blue suit and ski mask.

He flips the diamond spear in his fingers, raising his arm and watching the pocket watch. 

" _Stab 'em_ ," Scout hisses.

A few of the bottles clatter together in the lair, and Spy panics, suddenly vanishing from sight. Merasmus and George both turn around. George calls for Farland. "Farland" reappears somewhere out of our view as George scolds him for messing with the sorcerer's things. Scout seethes a curse in frustration, and I slap my hand over his mouth in horror of how he may have given us away. He puts his hand over mine as if it'll suppress his noises even further, a drop of blood running over my fingers and falling through the grate, onto the book page. I gulp.

"We'll continue this conversation later, Merasmus," George speaks as he looks around. 

" ** _Merasmus will wait for your return,_** " he refers to himself in the third person as he resumes his persona, dropping the book on some boxes right under the grate we're looking through. "Just make sure you knock before you enter next time. My eldritch portal to my eldritch apartment only opens when you knock. You just got lucky that I heard you."

"Farland" joins George and resumes his hunched appearance. George and Merasmus walk off in different directions, but "Farland" looks up at us, staring me in the eye. I lift my body slightly in surprise and stare back. He puts a finger over his lips before walking off to follow his faux-boss. Slowly removing my hand from Scout's mouth and wiping it on his jacket, we both give each other a look. Both of our gestures must have had different meanings as I was suggesting we go back and find the rest of the team to tell them what we've found out whereas Scout takes out his boxcutter and uses the blade as a screwdriver, pushing the grate off to drop down head-first into the cave. He does a sort of summersault to land on his feet.

"Scout, they're going to catch us!" I shrilly whisper. "We have to go tell the rest of the team about Merasmus!"

"I know, I know, we'll tell them in a bit. I just want to take a quick look around..." 

I sigh. "Help me down at least, please."

He clears the top of the crate to give me stable ground. I can't exactly do the same thing he did to get out. I wiggle around the extra room I now have to get my feet to the opening, poking my legs out and grumbling as I try to keep my skirt down. Gripping the edges of the entrance to keep me up, Scout places one arm behind my knees and tells me to let go, catching me bridal-style with his other arm around my back. He smiles at me, and I pat his chest before lifting my leg out of his grip to stand up. He jumps down from the crate and offers a hand like he did my first day at the fort when I was climbing down from Sniper's tower. I accept this time and stumble a little after jumping down. 

At first glance, this place is an absolute _mess_. It smells funny and feels damp on my skin. I shudder and let go of Scout's hand to investigate the origin of the smell. He also starts exploring a bit and walks off in a different direction. I sniff around, picking up items of interest around the room as I reach my destination. I don't think the liquids in these bottles are edible in any sense of the word, some having a sludge-like consistency and others like curdled milk. I grimace and waft the cork, coughing and almost throwing the thing as I've found the reason for the stench. All of them smell awful. I huff and pick up a book, thumbing through the pages.

"Find anything?" Scout comes to me and looks over my shoulder. 

"Just a bunch of Latin nonsense. I can only pick out a few words because I know a little French, but they might not necessarily translate into the word I'm thinking of."

"Sbeaking of French," Scout nasally mentions, "it's a good thing Sby is here. Think he snuck in to help us out?"

"That's the only reason I can think of," I ponder. "Hey, he talked about mind magic. Know anything about that?"

"Not really." I close the book I'm holding and walk around Scout. He keeps talking. "Merasmus usually just tries to kill us when Halloween rolls around if we don't helb him settle some money he owes to a crime organization or accebt some dumb challenge he made ub to torment us. We have Soldier to blame for that."

I get onto my knees and observe the totem that George shot. "Why is that?"

"He was Merasmus's roommate for a while before the rooms were built so we could stay at the fort. He's hard to live with, I think you've figured that out by now."

"Yup," I confirm, sticking my pinky finger through the hole. "Apparently this thing represented a spell he cast on you guys. He mentioned _the woman_ , do you think he was talking about me?"

"We haven't had any other ladies come by."

I take my finger out and set the figure back down where I found it, turning my attention to the book Merasmus was holding. The drop of blood from Scout's nose is still on the page. These pages are written in English, and this looks to be a memory-loss spell. It only activates when you speak the words on the page _after_ you get a drop of blood from your victim. I flip over the page to not even risk casting it. Bread monsters, drones, teleporters, resuscitation after three days of death, invisibility cloaking, and now magic. Who are these guys? I don't have a single doubt in my mind that this is all just a weird dream I'm having and I fell asleep somewhere in between coming from the kitchen and finding Scout with a bloody nose. Maybe I got my ass served to me on a silver platter after trying to fight the heavy. Maybe I'm still dead after I got my neck turned one-hundred-eighty degrees. I turn the pages and see a healing spell.

"Hey, I think this might help us," I mutter, looking up at Scout. "Is this for real, though? The magic part?"

"Totally. One-hundred bercent real, trust me."

"And you're sure that you didn't suffer a concussion or anything?"

"That?" Scout chuckles. "I cannot bromise that."

I give him a worried smile and turn back to the book, reading the instructions. All I need to do is recite some nonsense while touching the wound I want to heal. No penalty? Usually, with this kind of stuff, you have a penalty or something. Or is that only when dealing with death or whatever? "Alright, Scout, come here."

"What are you doing?"

"Healing you. I think." I face him and poke his nose. He winces and flinches, grabbing my wrist to push me away. I reach out again, more gentle, and look down at the book. " _Minisum,_ uh, _sanitatem?_ "

Scout's nose starts to shrink and return to its normal color. I remove my hand and set the reading down, grinning as Scout feels his face and laughs in excitement. "Hey, you did magic! This is great! For a first time caster, that's pretty amazing."

"I feel slightly light-headed, but I'm glad I could h--" Blood shooting out of my nose at a rapid speed interrupts me, burning my nostrils and causing both me and Scout to move our feet to avoid getting splashed. I lean forward and stop my clothes from getting dirty, most of the blood pooling on the totem on the ground. I cough and take a deep breath through my mouth. There's the penalty.

I squeak and wipe my nose, Scout inching around the puddle. "Whoa, are you okay?"

"No," I say, pressing my finger to one nostril and rocketing the last bit of blood out the other. "Now I am."

"I'm thinking we should leave." He walks over to the door George and Spy walked through, turning the handle and peering into the hallway. "It's clear, let's jet."

"Wait, what about the soldier and the heavy? They'll come looking for us and they'll make a huge commotion about us not being there." Some blood drips down over my lips, and I wipe it away to the best of my ability.

"I've got a feeling they won't be back down there. C'mon. Maybe we can find the two eggheads while we're sneaking around."

I sigh. Leaving everything the way it is should be the smart choice. The blood puddle isn't going anywhere, but there's no way they can trace it back to me. There are too many people in this facility, and they'll assume one of the other members was here first, right? I don't think we should take that chance. A bottle of red liquid is nearby, and I take a step back to throw it over. Scout protests and tries to stop me, but it's already flying out of my grip. It shatters on the ground and mixes with the puddle. "What?"

"Those things explode sometimes, so, uh, don't do that next time."

"Oh, sorry." I swing my arms. "Okay, now let's go."

Scout opens the door for me, and I exit first, thinking about our next move. Scout rubs his hands together and glances down both ends of the hallway. It's empty. I feel my hair move a little, and I turn around to see Scout with his hand out. "You had somethin' in your hair, turn back around."

"I always have something in my hair, it's curly, and we just came out of a dusty vent that hasn't been cleaned in ages," I dispute and pick a direction. "This way. Don't act nervous, though. You'll have to do most of the talking if we get spotted since I'm sure not all of them know what your face looks like. Wait, uh- Take off your jacket, though. Engie said you're the only scout here, so they'll know right away."

"Huh, nice catch," he says as he pulls down the zipper, turning the sleeves inside out and tying them around his waist. 

He follows me down the passageway, going down paths that don't have a lot of noise coming from them. Scout checks doors as we go, most being locked and all of the rooms he _can_ access being empty or storage. 

"Hey!" Scout and I become stiff, slowly rotating and facing behind us. A man stands in front of us, looking to be around the same age as Scout and Sniper. He's still intimidating, a hard look in his eyebrows as they press down into a line. He's a bit more tan like Sniper and has auburn-like hair on top of his head. He's not too pleased with us. "What business do you two have down here?"

Scout's eyes widen, and he scrunches his face. "We-- We need to, uh-- We're here--"

"George told him to take me down to the medic and engineer. He gave it to this guy because, I mean, look at him, he's unassuming, right?"

"Okay... but what do you need from them?"

"They told Ge-" I elbow him. "Th- the boss they wouldn't work without seeing her, so I'm- I'm taking her to go see them," Scout quickly says, looking over at me for approval. 

"Alright then, get a move on you two. I'll take you there. You should know not to go wandering in places that are higher than your clearance though, buddy. I almost shot you," the mercenary lightens up and becomes friendlier; he comes closer to us, his patch revealing he's a sniper. "I didn't see any weapons on you and thought you were one of the Team Fortress goons trying to escape. What class are you?"

We start walking with the sniper. "I'm, uh, a recruit."

"Oh, I see. The boss must be trying to test you. He must see something in you to give you such an important task. What class do you hope to be assigned to?"

"A scout," he almost blurts, slitting his eyes in worry of giving himself away.

The guy laughs. "We just lost ours, so I'm certain you'll get it, assuming you meet all of the requirements." He pats Scout on the shoulder. "I think this is the door you were looking for. It needs a key, so that might've been why you walked right by it. What's your name?"

He holds out his hand. Scout takes it. "Jeremy. You?"

"Cassius. All my friends call me Cashew, though. Fun fact: I'm actually allergic to nuts."

"That's... That's kinda mean," I mutter. 

"Oh, I don't mind it too much."

Scout gives him an awkward smile from the corner of his lips, backing up. "Haha, yeah. Uh, thanks for the directions, dude."

"No problem. Trust me, when you're finally able to wear your class symbol, it's the _best_ feeling. It means you're one of the best in the entire team." He unlocks the door with a key and swings it open. "It was nice... wait a minute."

"What's up, man?"

"Your dog tags..." Scout looks around his neck, and I do, too. Shit. I completely didn't see the little shoe with a wing the first time. Scout looks up at Cassius. "Hey, you're a Fort--"

Scout stampedes and brandishes his boxcutter, pinning the sniper to the wall and holding the tip of the blade to his neck. He breathes heavily and presses him harder when he tries to move. "Look, buddy, I don't wanna kill you. You seem like a nice guy, so I'm letting you go. Don't make me regret it."

"Oh, I knew I should've just snapped your ass like a twig." All direct our glim to the commotion, Adam standing down the hall and watching this situation play out. "You're a snitching little son of a bitch, Cassius, aren't you?"

"No, no! Look, I have a boxcutter to my--"

"I don't want to fucking hear it, everyone here is getting burned," Adam growls, the gas from his canister hissing as it runs to his flamethrower. "All of you little shitlets piss me off anyway."

"Ad- Adam, c'mon man! Look, I know we don't get along and all of that but we're teammates," Cassius nervously laughs and holds Scout's wrists. "I didn't know they were Fortress!"

"He's right!" I interject. "You have a problem with us, not him."

Adam scoffs as he takes out a gas mask. "Shut the hell up you conniving bitch. You're just annoying to me, Cassius. Rule number one is to never piss off a pyro because they'll just look for you when it's time to blow off some steam; and I'm just about ready to boil over. You guys aren't that Jane or John or whatever motherfucker but damn, will I pretend you are. Three fucking days dealing with that fucker. No matter how many times you beat his ass, he just _keeps fucking talking_. Imagine how pissed I was when I found out I had to bunk with that patriotic dipshit. I wanted to keep both of you fuckers dead because it would've been less of a pain to deal with, but here you fucking are, all because George wanted you that way. The way I wished to roast your friends like a Swissmas ham... It's always the crazy Mann Co. bitches."

Adam goes to put his mask on, an opening becoming prominent when his eyes are covered. Scout drops Cassius, pulling Adam close to him and jabbing the blade into his stomach a couple of times before driving it through his neck. He chokes and stumbles, hitting the wall and reaching for a handgun. Scout pursues and removes the small knife, blood spraying on him as he slits his throat. The victim rasps and still tries to reach for any of his weapons as blood spurts from his wound like a sprinkler system. The boxcutter clicks as Scout keeps retracting and pushing out the blade, debating on whether or not he should finish Adam off. Gargles and wheezes for help fall on deaf ears as Scout and I watch him start coughing and suffocating. Scout pants and observes the mercenary struggle for a while longer before inevitably dying, a gurgle of death his final word and spraying a mouthful of blood at Scout his final action. I grit my teeth and get sent into a frenzy as my instinct to rid ourselves of the body kicks in.

"Scout, close the door, hurry up. You take his head, I'll take his feet, we're going to take him down with us. First chance we get, we're chopping this guy up and getting rid of him."

"Do I... Do I have to be present for that?"

I pick up his flamethrower and turn off the gas flow, searching his person for anything I can use, looking up at Scout with widened and deranged eyes. "Do you smoke?"

"No."

"I would still need help with dismemberment, so preferably, but no, you don't have to be there."

He sighs relief. "Oh, thank God."

"You just stabbed the guy and slit his throat, I don't understand why dealing with him now is the part you don't want to do."

"I panicked, okay? He- He- He was going to fucking burn us a crisp and- and- an- and I- I'm not a fucking fan of getting caught, Miss Fredrickson."

"Soldier smokes, right?" I ask, moving onto his pockets and disregarding Scout's hysteria.

"Yeah, yeah, uh, cigars." 

"Even better than cigarettes, it'll make burning the prints off much easier."

" _Holy crap, you're serious--_ " 

Cassius's being here comes to the forefront of my mind, I turn to the panicked BLU, deadpan. "You're not going to tell anyone what you saw down here."

He shudders. "Y-Yes, Ma'am."

Cassius pants and flees in the other direction, his heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. I give Scout the fire ax. I drag Adam by his feet to lay him down, putting his feet under my arms. "What are you waiting for?"


	13. Thirteen: Alternate Means of Disposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Engie)
> 
> Medic and I were doing a bit of scheming on how to get the rest of our teammates together without a BLU chaperone, so imagine my surprise when I come to the foot of the basement stairs and see none other than Miss Fredrickson and Scout, hauling a dead man down the stairs as if he was a damn couch. Was a bit surprised at how much Scout tore into his ass and gave him what for, and Miss Fredrickson didn't look too bothered by it. Though small and dainty compared to the rest of us rugged old coots, she sure knows how to stomach a bit of commotion. Welp, gotta knock out two birds with one stone now that we've got a body. We can get rid of it also test out a couple of things while we're at it.

"Well, I suppose this will do nicely," Medic says as his eyes adjust to the new glasses Engie made for him, turning to the body we've brought down. "That'll also do."

"Do I have to get rid of this body, yes or no?" I question, hoisting myself up on Engie's workbench.

"No, we can do that for you _after_ we get done running this trial, don't worry. It'll clear you two of any suspicion at least, " Engie declares as he rolls over on his stool to me, leaning his back on the desk while crossing his arms. "I'm more curious as to what y'all are doing down here?"

"Mostly hiding, we're actually supposed to be in the library right now," I report. "Maeve ditched me because these two BLUs tricked her by faking orders from George. We did find out some really helpful stuff. This Merasmus guy is involved somehow. Scout, you tell them."

"Yeah. Merasmus was talkin' about casting a spell with some mind magic or something. He mentioned something about Miss Pauling and Miss Fredrickson canceling a spell out."

Medic starts messing with Adam. Engie continues our conversation. "It's August, though. Merasmus shouldn't be creeping around during this time of year anyway."

"He mentioned something about his _'eldritch'_ powers working under _'c_ _ertain conditions'_. Any idea what those conditions might be?" I fold my legs. 

"Sounds a bit too convoluted for Merasmus, it's probably just him making excuses. We'll have to pay the old fella a visit, sounds like," Engie thinks out loud and rubs his chin.

"I don't think we'll have to. I'm pretty sure whatever spell he currently had on the rest of the guys is broken."

"It's... August, though." Engie repeats.

"Yeah, now that I think about it-" Scout wipes his fingers off on any part of his clothes that's not sullied, "Miss Fredrickson, you shouldn't have been able to cast that spell."

"And now you're a witch?" Medic asks.

"It was just a little healing spell! I guess I am, I don't know. All I know is that blood rocketed out of _my_ nose in exchange for healing _Scout's_."

"Doesn't sound too flattering." the Texan flicks his own nose with his thumb. "Anything else you two wannabe spies got for us?"

"Funny that you should mention Spy--" I knock gently on Engie's hard hat and he turns to me. "He's also hiding around the building with us."

" _Spion?_ " Medic lifts his head, curiously.

"About damn time," Engie nudges my knee with his elbow. "Was wonderin' when his sneaky little behind would worm its way into here. He brags about being unkillable so I'd expect him to live up to the expectation."

"He's sticking close to George and almost got the drop on him, but he wasn't lucky enough. He's wearing blue like we are."

"He also worked for BLU, once upon a time like Demo as well. It might be his way of blendin' in with the crowd in case he can't cloak anymore, it's happened before. That might very well mean that the remaining boys are hanging in there behind the scenes."

"Hey, do you think..." Engie spins around on his stool and rests his head on his fist, looking up at me expectantly. "Do you think whatever spell Merasmus cast was meant to have the rest of the team act a certain way? Sniper was rather friendly for my first two days, but we obviously saw what happened later that week."

"While you're thinking about that, you two got any fresh clothes? Trying not to face the consequences of my actions here," Scout asks while breaking the mood, holding his arms out to present the blood splatters on him. Medic taps his arm and invites Scout to follow him into a side room. A shower faucet softly squeaks. It's a small basement that has shoddily put together laboratory-like elements about it. A lot of things look out of place, but I can't quite explain why. Plastic covers the wall as some sort of insulator while carts filled with a mix of medical and hardware tools strewn about, a wrench sitting right next to a scalpel and a screwdriver a syringe. The two of them have showcased slightly messy behavior to pair with their above-average IQs in their respective fields of specialty.

"It's not like Sniper to jump to conclusions like that too often, so I'm sure it must've been." My cheeks puff out slightly as I whistle a low note, rubbing my eyes. Engie frowns. "Everything alright, Miss Fredrickson?"

"I want to sleep," I groan, rubbing my eyes. "I think I've had enough excitement for a year or two."

"Everything moves pretty fast when it comes to Fortress, Miss, and I'd say that Spy making a surprise appearance now is pretty far behind schedule, what with us being on a train for three days. It's the disorganization that propels us. As for you, you've got one of two choices." Engie stands up and pats my shoulder. "We've got a gurney you can nap on, but we'd probably wake you in fifteen minutes, or you can drink some coffee and crash later."

"I'll take the crash," I pick. He walks over to a table with a coffee machine on top. Medic stops him.

"I would not suggest that, Engineer. I still need to examine her."

"Doctor's orders; sorry Ma'am," Engie sighs and stands next to the dead body. "Did quite a number on the bastard there, didn't ya?"

"How many times do I gotta say I panicked? I really _hate_ it when I get caught in a lie," the Boston boy soughs and comes out with a clean white shirt and a new pair of pants. He slides his jacket back on as it was missed by the fountain that gushed from the neck of his victim, holding onto his hat since his hair isn't dry yet. Medic pulls a cart behind him with tools and a contraption.

"As many times as you need to make it believable for yourself," Medic teases, picking up a clamp. "We should start while the patient is still fresh and they're none the wiser of him being missing. Are you ready, Engineer?"

Engie nods and picks up the small cylindrical machine with a glowing orange substance embedded in a tube that was resting amongst Medic's things. He sighs and stands back as Medic separates the skin of the corpse. Scout jeers and walks away, Engie telling him to be useful and to mop up the top of the stairs. He grumbles and takes a bucket full of water, a mop, and some bleach. 

"Shouldn't you be wearing gloves and a lab coat, Medic?" I implore.

He doesn't answer me for a while as the two work, Engie grimacing and Medic shifting his position slightly as he views the carnage with an intrigued eye." _Es ist ziemlich böse, nicht wahr?_ You're free to wear them if you want, it looks as though we'll need your help, _die gnädige Frau._ "

"Oh," I wheeze, chuckling and looking around for Medic's clothing while I hastily tie up my hair. I'm sure I'll only need the gloves, slipping them up past my elbows. There's a somewhat sticky sensation at the finger pads, and I'm just going to hope and pray that it's blood in there. Making a mental note to remind Medic to wash out his gloves, I approach the table. Medic stands at his head and Engie on one side; I take the other. "What am I doing? What are _we_ doing?"

"We, _mein Assistent_ , are testing out our newest invention together," Medic announces with a smile. "Now, hold this clamp in place and stick your finger there."

I tilt my head slightly and replace his hands, dissatisfied with the fact my fingers are stuck into the neck of a guy I should be cutting into pieces right now. I can hear Miss Pauling at this current moment, reprimanding me on how I so quickly gave into these two hooligans and donated the body to them for the sake of science and medicine. On the other hand, I don't really care. The guy was an asshole, so might as well make him useful to us. I sigh as I peer at the contents of his throat. Scout really did let loose on him, didn't he? Looks like unresolved anger almost. Medic wipes his fingertips on his dress shirt before he pushes a different cart over with his Medi Gun mounted onto a larger machine, flipping a few switches and readjusting the nozzle on the movable arm. He exhales greatly and hums a little tune as he latches a cord onto the lever of his healing contraption which spews a constant ray of life into the lifeless cadaver before us. I glance at Engie who holds his own mechanism like a baby. 

" _Danke_ , I'll take that back," Medic resumes his position. "Now, I'll need you to pull the skin back a bit more and use the suture that's in my tools."

I widen my eyes and roll them as I step away to go get the suture. I come back and realize I can't see clear enough to make a stitch because of my height. I try to stand on my toes, but that does nothing as I'm already wearing heels. 

"Problem, Miss Fredrickson?" Medic inquires.

"I don't have a clear view of what I'm doing, and I don't want to ruin anything," I answer.

Engie steps back and walks around to my side of the table, picking up a crate and flipping it upside down for me to use a stepping stool. I look down to watch my step, thanking Engie and returning to work.

Medic separates his fingers so I get an idea of where to start. He has us make small talk. "You know, Engineer only knew to do that because he's had that problem numerous times as well."

Engie grumbles. "Focus on the operation, doc." 

"Oh-ho, I am," he curtly remarks. I sew close his esophagus, not being able to shake the feeling that this is absolutely _not_ going to work. Actually, given my current statistics and the way that today has been going? There's a snowball's chance in Antarctica that they'll be able to pull it off. Whatever it is we're trying to do. Medic continues. "The two of you are about the same height, anyway, aren't you?"

"I think so, yes," I say without putting too much thought behind it, pulling the curved needle through the gore of the situation. 

"How tall would you say you are, Miss Fredrickson?" Medic removes his fingers so I can continue sewing.

"What is it with y'all and my height?" Engie murmurs shortly.

"I'm five-foot-four-inches... I add an inch if I'm being generous," I utter as I tie a knot into the string and use the sharp tip on the suture to cut the string. Straightening out my back, I flex my arms and rotate my neck to work out kinks before hunching over again to do the skin on top. Medic removes his tools and watches me carry out business. "Engie, how tall are you?"

He remains silent at first, but Medic smiles at him which has him start talking. "I'm five-foot- _six_."

"That's not too bad." I shrug. "Nothing to be ashamed about."

"I'm what I think is roughly six feet in the customary measure," Medic adds.

"And there's nothing out of the ordinary there either- if you're not just a bit taller than the average man."

"So you don't care about height?" He asks with a hint of disbelief. I tell him I don't. He chuckles. "Wow, you're really an all-around, huh, Miss?"

"Mm-hmm," I hum.

Medic looks down at Engie mischievously. "Are you... Are you flirting with Miss Fredrickson? Over a dead body no less, Engineer? Is that what you're doing?"

He stands slackjawed. "It's a- uhm- friendly thing, y'know?"

I squint my eyes at him. "You were flirting?"

"Over a cadaver, though, Engineer?" Medic pesters.

"Not, not over dead bodies, no. I'm not flirting Miss Fredr--"

"It's perfectly normal for one to release stress sensually, Engineer. I don't see a problem with it as you possess a rather friendly personality," Medic interjects himself, Engie and I both glace at each other before back at him. I go back to stitching. "There aren't many issues with speaking playfully over the deceased, I was merely--"

"Pretending I didn't hear that last part, that's not at all what I'm doing here," Engie clarifies in a calm voice. "I think it's a good time as any to make that arm incision. I promise, Miss Fredrickson, that wasn't my intention."

"No, no, it's okay, I tend to take things the wrong way," I say, snipping off the end of the knot. 

"Yes, well..." Medic starts to speak but stops himself when Engie elbows him, simply nodding and picking up a scalpel while he looks over my work. "Oh, _wu_ _nderbar_ technique. And you say you only get rid of bodies... Thank you, Miss Fredrickson, that's all we'll need. You're free to stay and watch if you'd like."

I huff and step down from the stool. "There's nothing else to do. You never told me what we're trying to accomplish here."

"We're trying to see if this thing here works. It's what George brought us here to develop for him." Engie flinches when Medic makes what looks like an unnecessarily large gash the length of the entire forearm.

"And your thing does...?"

"It for sure extends the life of someone who has the fuel source, but it's a bit unknown on whether or not it revives people."

"That's where you'd be incorrect, Engineer," Medic speaks low as he pulls open the cut and jabs the IV in. "It can and will resuscitate someone. There's just no way to do it consistently."

"Hmm, think you couldn't've told me earlier about that one?" Engie groans. "I may need to change my schematics a bit because of that."

"If this does end up working... Think about it, a machine that can extend someone's life. And we're giving up that technology to Vanguard of all people? Do we even know what they want it for?"

"No, and I don't think they'll be squealing on it anytime soon. Good news, though, if it works, then we'll just continue messing up the process so then we don't have to give it up to him."

"So many resources would go to waste."

"Yes, yes, our ethics are greatly flawed, but the need of the few over the many is always a factor with these sorts of predicaments," Medic dismisses as he holds his hand out for Engie to hand him their invention and begins installing it into the gash. He speaks low and deep. "We could say the same about Medi Guns, teleporters and the magic Merasmus possesses. Who's to say we're not protecting humans from their own morbid curiosity? The greed they carry is immense and vast, always hungry for more, like baby birds willing to push their siblings out of the nest to be given more food from their mother. I am not exempt, wanting to push the human body to the limits and seeing what we can truly achieve as the supposed top of the food chain. As a matter of fact, I stole a man's skeleton once because I thought I would've needed it for later, but I let the _armes Ding_ live despite my better judgment. He passed shortly afterward on his own accord, but it was still a marvel to witness... The human body doing what it knows how to do best: _überleben_.

"Surviving. Outlasting. Overcoming, Wanting to come... Out... On... Top. With that said, it'd be fair to tell you that's there's already two of these contraptions in existence. If there's more that we don't know about, it's all the more fascinating, is it not Miss Fredrickson? The mere thought of two or more people on this earth suffering far beyond their due date of death and watching idly by as the world around them changes while on borrowed time. Must be incredibly boring to be going through it by yourself, so why not take a friend, hmm?"

He chuckles as he gives me a menacing smile. I slowly let out a shaken breath and pull off the gloves, draping them on an open space of the table and turning around the go up the stairs to help Scout. He's off his rocker, he _has_ to be. A psycho, an absolute lunatic. He took a man's _skeleton_? How do you even manage that kind of feat without damaging literally every vital organ they have? And he sounded like he did it for fun. It was different when I was letting him harvest organs because I thought he was going to use them in case of emergency transplants needed for the team, not as test subjects to do God-knows-what to create _more_ of what God only knows. In his mind, I served just the same purpose.

Scout drops the mop into the bucket and sighs, pulling it out and letting the water drip before flopping it onto the floor. I stay a step or two down and wait for Scout to address me. "What, too many cooks in the kitchen?"

"Sorta?"

"I heard some of it. Don't let Medic freak you out too much."

I whimper a bit. "How? I mean, his outlook is just- it's just- so deranged. He sounded excited and like he wasn't doing anything wrong."

"And you get a pass?" I look up at him as he continues swishing the mop from side to side. "You looked kind of pumped to chuck that guy into a hole in the ground."

"That's different."

"Enlighten me," Scout rests his head on the backs of his hands as he leans on the stick. 

"Aside from the fact it's my job, they're already dead. I'm only trying to cover our tracks, Scout. Medic just does it because he wants to. Adam was a _bitch,_ too."

"You're also just doing it 'cause you want to." He picks up the bucket and walks down past me. "All of us could just _stop_ being mercenaries if we want to. You've gotta be a psychopath to wanna do this job, right? There's always the option to just not do it."

I take a minute before stepping back down the stairs. I can worry about this _later_. We need to be on the same page if we want to make it out of this.

"I hope I didn't frighten you, I do severely apologize. _Es tut mir leid, Miss Fredrickson._ " Medic rubs his fingers on his shirt and adjusts his glasses. "I do tend to find myself going on tangents."

"It's fine, Medic. I'm-- It's fine."

"That's good to hear," Medic smiles at me. "What's not so good is that George wishes to speak with us."

"We can't... not when we're waiting for the charge." Engie becomes worried.

Medic holds up his index finger. "As much as I want to be here to watch our glorious creation come to life, I'll be the one to go see him. You went last time anyway, my hard-hatted _freund_."

Engie tilts his head. "I know how much this means to you, Medic. It's not a problem, really."

"It'll be somewhat suspicious if it's always you coming to him. He asked for me specifically anyway. Just be sure to take extensive notes on the outcome before you have to pull the plug, _Haben wir einen Deal?_ "

"I promise," Engie says, retrieving Medic's coat. "Better cover yourself, George never cleared us for this."

"Thank you. Utilize the body bags and bone saw in the supply closet as you see fit, Miss Fredrickson. Scout, please come with me."

"Huh?" Scout looks at us from the gurney where he was sitting, biting down on the roll of bandages to finish wrapping up his hand. "Why me? I'm not supposed to be anywhere near you bozos."

"You're a stray puppy I picked up along the way," Medic playfully muses. "I also don't think you'd want to be here for when our guest wakes up."

Scout stands up. "You're right about that. See ya."

"Be back soon, _Auf Wiedersehen,_ " Medic sings as he buttons up his lab coat, Scout following after him. The door closes behind them, and I shift my focus to Engie. He hums in confusion when I face him without any reason to do so, saying something to break the silence.

"Help you?"

"What Medic said about the flirting-" I bring up the situation that happened not too long ago.

"He's just messin'," Engie claims as he adjusts the Medi Gun, growing quiet. "Don't worry too much about what he said."

"If you say so," I round the table to stand by him in case this goes awry. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. My mom used to say I had trouble reading the room sometimes."

" _Well then,_ " he chuckles gently. "Good to know. But don't worry about it too much, Miss. One of the very few things that we have in common as a team is our trash-talking and internalized bullying."

He flicks a few switches and taps the tube in Adam's arm; his body begins to twitch. The Texan picks up a clipboard and a pen, starting to scribble down his observations. I lean over, but Engie holds his arm up to have me keep my distance. That didn't help me much as Adam's eyes flick open before he lunges at me, grabbing my collar and shaking me furiously.

" ** _Cashew! Cashew!_** " He screeches, his throat obviously not in the best shape to be articulating. It's spectacular he can do so at all.

" _Ahaha,_ hey, hey, hey-- _En- Engie!_ " I call out, throwing jabs to fend off the pyro, blood flowing steadily out of his mouth.

"Sonuva bitch--" Engie smacks him with his clipboard and drags me away, turning off the flow of life into his body. He still yells out the name of the nut as his sutures have begun to bleed. The countryman expresses his disgust and steps over him, pulling out a wire from the piece of tech on his arm. His hairs turn white and his body dehydrates as he rattles death for the second time. 

"Rivetin'," Engie remarks. "Care to help me move him back up?"

I dust myself off. A hand comes from behind and clasps over my mouth, pulling me back and trapping me with a knife to my neck. I roll my eyes as this is the sixth time I've been targeted, second with a knife. This is getting old. Engie slowly straightens himself out with an arm up.

" _Bonjour_ , Labourer, _Mademoiselle,_ " Spy quietly greets. "Listen to me well. Meet near the bridge at midnight precisely and bring our teammates. Do not keep me waiting, we will talk then. _Jusque là._ "

He releases me and disappears, faint footsteps pittering away. Engie doesn't pursue him and walks over to me instead. "Did he get ya?"

I feel my neck and look at my fingers. "No."

He shifts from his toes to his heels. "Looks like we've got a date."

"Looks like."


	14. Fourteen: It's a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Spy)
> 
> Finally, our comrades have been united. It was not easy to find an opening to invite them to join us, and it was equally as difficult to tell of what was happening to us. Pyro and Sniper, in particular, took it the worst. I am unaware of what Sniper did to Miss Fredrickson, but Pyro certainly feels a good bit of guilt at this development, as do I. As much as we should not dwell on this predicament, I know that Miss Fredrickson will have a great issue with reuniting with the team as she knows about us is stand-offish behavior and the urge to kill.

I bite the insides of my cheeks, anxiously awaiting the clock across the room to turn. If I get caught, it's surely going to be the pits for me. Scout got off with what was practically a slap on the wrist for being with Medic as Medic just healed him when they came back, but a broken arm is still a shit move on George's part. Getting woken up from my two-hour nap to see Scout generally unbothered by his bone sticking out of his skin put me right back to sleep for another hour, I didn't want to deal with anything at the time. Medic also said I was doing just fine for a walking dead woman after he looked me over, so I guess that means something. 

I rise from my bed and tip-toe over to Maeve's closet, taking a pair of tennis shoes and tying them tightly on my feet. Pacing, a decision of whether or not I should take my pocket knife comes to mind. Maeve isn't a fan of the noise I'm making as she turns over and starts to snore. I stop pacing. The worst they can do is send me back to my room and warn Maeve about my behavior. She already knows that we're going to escape since I let it slip and told her not to think about it. We can't have that though. I take it from my nightstand drawer and adjust the underwire of my bra.

Shakily, my hand gently tugs on the door, the latch bolt clicking as it hits the strike plate. I freeze and wait a few moments before resuming my getaway. I'm met with memories of sneaking out at night with my friends in high school to go to the roller rank on Saturdays as they closed at two in the morning instead of at ten at night. We'd all meet up at the convenience store and exchange larger bills from work for smaller ones and change to be able to buy snacks and drinks easier in between songs.

I got away with this for two years before my parents did some chatting with the gas station attendant and found out about my schemes. I had my skates taken away for a whole year, but that didn't deter me. I just rented a pair instead and brought my own food. All I wanted to do was have a fun night out with friends. Sometimes I can still feel the bass of the track shaking my legs as we rounded the glossy floor and danced as best as we could, unable to keep up with the adults who had whole numbers planned out for their entire crew. My lungs ache as I reminisce about how hard we'd laugh while downing milkshakes and sharing a basket of fries.

Despite the fun I had, the walk back home would strip us of all glee we filled ourselves up with. It was quiet, dark, and some of the most terrifying times of my life. We never stopped walking, that was the first rule. The second rule was to stay in a group. They couldn't target one of us if we had all flocked. The third rule was to never speak a word so the sound of incoming danger would be heard well before it reached us. We'd usher ourselves through the dark streets, our skin-tone our camouflage as we avoided street lights, gas stations, bus stops, and porch lights. The wheels of our skates would clack as we sped through the neighborhood, trying our damndest to get back home and in our beds before the patrol car rolled by, or even worse: the Bookies. That's what we called them for the longest time: the Bookies. They went to a better school and had a better education than a large percentage of my entire neighborhood. They would oftentimes steal money from us so we'd be allowed to go home without causing trouble since they knew that we would never retaliate. The first time I ran into the Bookies was the easiest out of all of the times I encountered them later on. That was the first fight I ever got into and, I swore, at the time, that it was my last. I had pulled the hair of a brunette Bookie and used my skates to defend myself, leaving her bloodied and bruised on the pavement as I sprinted after my friends to catch up with them. She never ratted me out as to not admit that an Uppity had bested her in combat, but I was afraid for so long that I'd be escorted out of school with a bloodied nose and restrained hands one day because she snitched.

Vanguard is the Bookies. I jog and land on my toes, sticking close to the walls to remain in the shadows. Spy must've chosen this time because of a shift change for the night watchmen. My feet placement is meticulous as I don't know if there are any cameras. There can't be, can there? Scout and I got away with genuine murder, and George was clueless. He'll find out about it soon, though. We've got to get out before then. It's colder than I anticipated, wishing that I'd brought a jacket as goosebumps start to form on my arms. All I have is a tank top and the skirt I wore today to cover me. Neither does a decent job of warming me in the slightest. I slow my descent by the stairs and hunch down, peering around both corners before running with a ducked head straight to the common room. I walk into the well-lit kitchen and spot Engie resting on his haunches near the incinerator. 

"Everything looking good?" I ask, rubbing my arms.

"Yup, even found some keys in his pocket. Mind if I ask what you've got on?"

I look down as though I didn't know what I was wearing. "Maeve is rather adamant about me changing clothes when it's appropriate, so this was the best I could do to get her off of my back. I also didn't want to make noise by rustling through her closet." 

"If you are cold, you can have my jacket," Soldier's voice almost propels me into the air. 

"Volume, Soldier, please," Engie hushes him. "Take his jacket, Miss Fredrickson."

Soldier hands it to me and stands in a white t-shirt while I slip it on, folding the sleeves up to my wrists so I can keep my hands open. "Thank you, Soldier."

"We've only got a few minutes left. Soldier, you got anything to protect yourself with?"

He looks around and grins as he walks over to the sinks. He stares into them for a while before looking up and reaching for one of the pans that were hung up for storage. "I do now."

"I guess that'll do," Engie sighs. "And you, Miss Fredrickson?"

"I have a knife."

"Where?"

"Places," I state with the same tone I used with Scout. Engie's shoulders shift as he thinks about where I could be hiding it, lifting a finger to speak. I grab his raised hand and start pulling him to get him walking before letting go. "Can't keep Spy waiting."

Engie turns off the lights as we leave, and we cautiously pass through the entranceway to the building, still trying our best to stay out of areas that the floodlights cover. Crickets chirp and sand crunches under our shoes. The wind is hot and picks up dirt that scrapes against my legs. I shield my eyes as a stronger breeze blows past, pushing hair behind my ear to keep my face clear. The wooden boards of the bridge clank and creak with our added weight. We stand in the middle with our backs almost together as we all take it upon ourselves to watch the vicinity. Scout and Medic catch up to us as they come out a different walkway, blazing clear through the light. I groan at their lack of subtlety.

"Guys, we can't find the wizard," Scout says, not out of breath in the slightest. Medic puffs and leans over his knees. "Probably just gonna come back during Halloween anyway. Whoa, hey, Miss Fredrickson, that's a tight-fitting sh--"

"Our life-extending machine is still safe. _Wow, ich bin außer Form_."

Scout rolls his eyes. "You run around following us all of the time, Medic."

Medic heaves as he looks up at him. "Yes, but we don't _sprint._ You were _sprinting_ as a twenty-seven-year-old filled with vigor and youth who also has an athletic background, _Dummkopf_. That's not important. I also brought my Medi Gun along."

"You'll need it," Spy stands at the other end of the bridge and lights himself another cigarette. He's in his red suit this time. "Follow me."

"Hey, hey, hey, Frenchie!" Scout rings enthusiastically, everyone shushes him aggressively.

"Scout," Spy says with a lowered sarcastically excited tone. Spy leads us to the cargo dock and hugs the wall to fit down a more narrow space between the building and a chain-link fence. The fence jingles as Engie, Soldier, and Medic squeeze through. On the other side, there's a small square of enclosed land with a door that leads into the building. Spy drops his cigarette and crushes it under his foot, knocking on the door with a certain rhythm that causes it to unlock. Pyro opens the door, and I step back upon seeing his mask in the darkness. Spy places his hand on my shoulder. "The rest of you go ahead, I need to have a word with _Mademoiselle Fredrickson_."

Their eyes fall on me, and I nod. "I'll be fine, go ahead."

Everyone goes in, and Scout is the last to enter, pointing finger guns at me and clicking his tongue with a wink. "See ya inside."

"I saw what was happening to you with Pyro that night," Spy quietly starts. I cross my arms and sniff, taking a deep breath to speak but he continues. "I want to apologize as I did not stop it from happening. In my mind at the time, I thought he was justified in doing so. Even if Pyro's only intention was to scare you and not to bring physical harm to you, I should have voiced my concerns. Do not be mad at Pyro as he doesn't see things clearly on his own under normal circumstances anyway. Let me be the first to say that Pyro is nothing like that, not normally. Not to his colleagues."

"I guess I'm not a colleague, then," I shrug with a cheeky smile.

"Please don't think that lowly of yourself."

I shift my weight to one leg. "I'm assuming you also know about what happened with Sniper?"

"I'm afraid I do not. He hasn't been able to talk with us this entire time. Would you care to tell me?"

"He attacked me because he thought I was a spy. And I mean attacked as in he tried to stab and kill me. He got close, but Medic shot him in the neck with a syringe of all things. That might be why he can't speak," I rub my arms. "He was dead set on making sure I wouldn't live to see another day, not even Medic was able to talk him out of it. Medic got hurt in the process because of how determined he was to end me."

"Is that what was keeping you up at night?" I nod, connecting the dots that Spy was my friendly shadow outside the window.

"I mean, among other things. But it was mostly Sniper."

"I can only assume our medicine man is down there healing everyone as we speak. I want to assure you that they weren't thinking straight, _Mademoiselle_. Following around George for the past few days has been rather informing on our current predicament. We were tricked, _bousculés..._ I think it best we discuss it together with everyone else present." 

"Is everyone down there? _All_ of the team?" I kick into the ground with my toe. Spy reaches into his jacket and takes out a tin, removing a cigarette from inside. He offers me one, but I decline. " _Je ne fume pas._ "

"Hmm, _Bien pour vous._ " He puts the tin away and flicks a lighter from his pocket. "We're all alive, _oui_. I can hear trouble in your voice. Sniper isn't down there at the current moment if that's what you're worried about. There's more that's bothering you, isn't there?"

"I'm regretting coming to the fort," I blurt, dejected. I guess that's what I was thinking, I don't know. Do I really want to quit? This is the first time I've heard about Spy idling by as Pyro did what he was doing. Would he have stopped it had Pyro gone through with it? Pyro must've stopped willingly, leaving Spy to have that knowledge to himself. "I'm not sure if I can continue to work with you, not after... _this._ "

"I don't think there's anything I can say to change your mind, _madame._ I hope you continue with us. You've proven quite resourceful if you're as inexperienced as I believe you to be, acting as a uniting leader amongst our otherwise very divisive comrades. Besides, if Scout managed to stay alive this long because of you, I think you to be a reliable asset."

We look at each other for a few moments before Spy reaches for the entrance to their bunker. I follow Spy in through the door. The steps creak as I go despite my light stepping, quickly getting drowned out by the joyous laughs of the men reuniting with each other. Once at the bottom, I hang back. Spy walks past me and sits down on one of the many plastic folding chairs littered around. They've been hiding out in a boiler room this entire time, right under our noses. It's for the best, as they would've gotten captured as well. Spy might've been trying to find the perfect time to approach us. He chickened out when he saw me as he was supposedly still affected by the magic. I feel dumb when I say _'the magic'_. It's warmer down here, but quieter than I'd expect. It seems abandoned, which is why they'd be allowed to hide unbothered here.

I root myself in place and observe from afar, seeing how they interact with each other. They're friendly within their group, many of them joking around and making light of our situation by commenting on how Soldier, Medic, Engie, and Scout all look like shit despite being in rough shape themselves. Demo and Soldier almost intelligibly, perhaps talking about explosive with how many _bangs!_ and _booms!_ they keep imitating, using their hands to further the demonstration. Medic administers medical services to Heavy and Demo, their wounds closing with their skin not showing any indication of being initially harmed. Heavy offers a piece of his sandwich to Medic, Scout snatching it at the last moment and leaning on Heavy's shoulder as he teases the German by taking a bite and mentioning the taste. The two older men glance at each other before Heavy turns around and stands up to loom over Scout, his body-language turning meek but his voice still snarky. I smile softly. Feeling a presence, I look to my side and take a startled step to the side as I see Pyro stand silently. He hunches forward in the slightest and tilts his head, he has a sandwich in his hand. I look away to ignore him, but I quickly peer over again.

"H-Heya, Pyro," I say quietly. "Need something, hun?"

" _Mh-hmm,_ " he nods, holding his hand out. " _Huph_ _._ "

I slit my eyes and pull close the opening to my jacket. "You want me to have that?"

" _Mmph,_ " he emphasizes his hand and takes another step closer. I lower my guard and take it from him.

"Oh... Thank you, Py- _whoa_ ," he grabs ahold of my arm and plucks me from my perch to drag me over to everyone else. I try to slow him down by leaning my body back and digging my heels, but I'm forced to join the rest of the crowd. He seats me in a folding chair and pulls up another next to me, assuming his spot. The Scot and the Russian both glance at me as they rest on my other side. "Uh... Hello."

"It is good to see you," Heavy speaks with a content tone, resting his hands on his knees. "You are durable, this is good."

"Great to ken ye stuck it out, aye?" Demo babbles, leaning back into his chair to pick up his beer bottle from the ground. He must've also gone about the Spy approach as his jumpsuit is a sickeningly vibrant cerulean.

"Yeah, yeah," I whisper, taking a bite of my sandwich. It feels different now, being around them. The guys are no longer being hostile and it's just _weird_. It's _uncomfortable_ , and I hate it. The imprint they left was unneeded rudeness, and now that's no longer the case, I don't know what to replace that void with. It's pleasant if not jarring. Spy stands up and blows smoke from one corner of his mouth as the other still holds his cigarette.

"Gentlemen- and our female companion- I wish to be the first to congratulate ourselves on meeting each other anywhere but in hell," Spy sounds as though he'll begin to monologue. Heavy sighs and crosses his arm, putting his head down to settle in for a nap. Spy rolls his eyes. "I'll keep this quick. Those just now joining our party should know about our plan to get you out of here."

"We could just leave right now if we wanted, right?" Scout interrupts, now sitting with his legs criss-cross on a fold-out table.

"Yes. However, we have a few loose ends to tie up. Heavy?" Spy holds his hand out, and Heavy rises from his seat, picking up a bag from under the table. He opens it and takes out a book, tossing it to Spy. "We will have to get rid of these: the wizard's spellbooks."

"Then we can take 'em with us," Engie suggests.

Spy chuckles maliciously, and Demo sits up excitedly. He slurs his word"Let's go out with a bang, lads."

" _Oorah!_ " Soldier shouts.

Scout laughs and sits up. "Hell yeah, now we're talking! You guys thinking payload?"

"Do they even have one of those active?" Medic asks.

" _Mm-hmm!_ " Pyro confirms with a thumbs up. I scrunch my nose.

"What's a payload?"

"We set off great bomb-cart in enemy base. Destroys everything and does most of work for us," Heavy describes the basics with a smug smile. "We just need to push bomb into heart of building for _'bang'_ Demo is looking for."

"It was down here waiting for us. They have tracks here, we just need to get the cart on it. We will send in the books along with the cart and make our escape. Sniper is setting up our getaway vehicles as we speak, and he will be back at any moment." Spy drops the book back into Heavy's bag. 

I finish eating and push up the sleeves of my jacket. "What about our intelligence?"

"Intelligence?" Spy turns slowly and inquires. "They have our intelligence? _Sacrebleu._ "

"Plan ruined?" Engie pulls on the glove on his hand.

"No, we will just have to split up to complete our objectives. Consider yourselves lucky that we brought you your gear... And a change of wardrobe. All of you look hideous enough, your clothing should not need to worsen that." Spy turns to me. " _Désolé madame_ , we could not find anything for you."

"Figures," I sigh. 

"Hey, Miss Fredrickson, catch!" Scout lobs over some of his own clothes. "You could probably fit." 

I look at the hip size for his pants. "The question is if these are too small rather than big."

"There is no honey, this is an _outrage_ _!_ " Soldier seethes as he aggressively drops his helmet back on his head and slips on his new coat. He ties on his bandolier and attaches the grenades, mounting a rocket launcher onto his shoulder. "You maggots are lucky I'm in a great mood and distracted by the promise of blowing things up."

I stand up, take off my shoes, and pull on the pants under my skirt, sliding it off after to spare us a conflict. The pants legs have to be rolled up and there was a bit of trouble getting the pants to my waist, but they otherwise fit snugly. Scout gives me a hoodie to cover my arms while staying within our color-coded dress regulations. He adjusts a headset over his hat while he talks. "Haven't even gone on a date yet and you're already wearin' my clothes."

Engie strikes the back of his head before unbuckling his belt. "I expected better from you."

"Hoh, I don't know why you do, Engineer," Medic slips off his bloodied dress shirt to switch it for a clean one. I turn to place my eyes on not them, unaware this suddenly became a changing room. "He's hardly shown us enough decency to get a baseline anyway."

"Let us not waste time. The night is young, so we must act like it is," Spy redirects our attention. "Someone will go retrieve our intelligence while the payload is being escorted."

"We'll also need to retrieve our device from the basement," Medic tacks on.

"What better man to do it than me? I'll be in-n-outta there in seconds!" Scout hypes himself up as Demo hands him a modified shotgun. I remember Miss Pauling bringing one just like it home once. What was it called... A scattergun? "I'll even take a hit at Merasmus if I get the chance."

"You might need to take a friend since it sounds as though a few of you have unfinished business," Spy comments.

"Looks like I'm up-" Engie fastens the clasp on one of the straps of his overalls. He sits down on a chair and stomps a few times in his works boots before beginning to adjust his knee pads. "Gotta collect my blueprints and my dispenser."

"I have yet to heal Sniper yet, so I will go meet him wherever he is and then assist whoever needs it," Medic snaps on his ruby red gloves and flexes his fingers. "Join me, Spy?"

"I shall. The rest are in agreement to set up the cart?"

"Aye, I'm gonna send 'em ane mense _kablooie!_ " Demo lifts the flap on his body armor that rests over his crotch, showing a piece of paper with a smiley face on it. I smile at the ridiculousness of it. "I ken Pyro is itchin' for a quality ane, aren't ye?"

Pyro murmurs through his mask and turns to me. I lose my smile and glance at Spy, hoping he'll tell me what's happening. He expresses a curious grin. "Yes yes, Pyro seems to want to team up with you."

"Oh, like--" I flip my head between Spy and Pyro a few times before focusing on Pyro. "Like, you'll just do whatever I choose with me?"

" _Humph!_ " He nods. I let out a meek whimper and pass it off as a chuckle. Pyro himself doesn't frighten me, it's the idea that I could get caught in the heat of the moment and perish in a coffin of flames. I know that Merasmus's meddling is a factor, but I don't know how he acts normally. I still want to help out with the plan, though. It's still my responsibility to aid them however they need. I hesitate about where to go. 

"Well, I know for a fact you don't have unlimited resources, so we should check out the armory," I suggest. "Engie, think one of your keys will unlock it?"

"No harm in tryin'. Uh--" he pats his pocket before searching his old pair of pants and tossing me the keyring from the pocket. They clink as Heavy catches them for me and hands them off.

"Be very careful, do not want casualty that I could have easily stopped," Heavy speaks as though he's my father. Pyro's noises come out slightly sassy and angry. Heavy shakes his head. "I did not mean like that, Pyro. I know that you are able; just wanted to be supportive. Like this: **Я верю в вас** , Miss Fredrickson.."

"I'm sorry, I only understood my name and nothing else," I speak in a reserved manner.

"Heavy-- Do not worry, is nothing," Heavy puts out a hand to tell me it's unimportant. I shrug.

"Get a gun while you're there Miss Fredrickson," Soldier loads a rocket. "It's your second amendment right."

"Aside from that, I think I'd worry a whole lot less if you did have one," Engie joins. "Simply having a knife ain't gonna do you much good with these fellas."

I put my hands up and lift my shoulders to surrender. All of a sudden, everyone sounds like a concerned father. "I suppose that is what I'll be doing then." Everyone rises and begins to gear up, grabbing their weapons and making small notes of encouragement as they begin to head out. Pyro holds onto his large flamethrower and joins the crowd moving toward the door. Spy stops us before we head up.

"One last thing. Use these radios to stay in contact. Scout, you already have your headset, so keep it on." Spy hands me ours, Soldier theirs, and relinquishes one to Medic for his own group. "I suggest you help with the payload once you complete your tasks so that we may regroup before setting it off. I trust that no one going to let me down."


	15. Fifteen: Payload Pusher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Heavy)
> 
> Team is full of babies, this is already established. Cannot even one time push the cart all the way to top of hill without problems. I always have to do most of work. We are not even in a fight and the cart goes downhill because they do not possess any strength in soft baby arms. This is a bit strange as cart is suddenly light as air when we do get into fight.

"You two wanna meet here before we get back to the cart?" Scout asks as he pops the barrel to his scattergun back into place.

"Sure," I say, lifting my hood over my head and shoving my hair behind me. "I'll call on the radio if anything comes up since you'd be the closest."

"Gotcha."

"Be careful, y'all," Engie assures as he gives us a two-finger salute before branching off with Scout.

" _Hurr-murr,_ " Pyro says back. That could've been a _'you, too'_ or something completely out of left-field. " _Muhh?_ "

I stand in place for a second before realizing Pyro has no idea where the armory is. I nod and start walking. Pyro's boots squeak as he steps behind me and his wheezes become prominent later on as air passes through his filter. The structure settles and increases the uneasiness of sneaking around while knowing you're outmanned. We round a corner and continue, Pyro's flamethrower clinking gently as he sways. The wall runs out and turns into mental fencing, a giant gate blocking our path into the armory. I sigh and take out the keys, trying them one by one. It's Adam, he _had_ to have had access. He was a higher-ranking pyro within Vanguard since he was allowed to wear his class emblem as Cassius said, he has to have entry to their weapons.

The lock clicks on the fourth key, and I chuckle lightly in relief, pushing open the gate and letting Pyro in first. The lights hum when I flick the switch to light them up. The racks and shelves are all empty and barren; a ghost town couldn't be less deserted. Pyro takes a gander into some cabinets, managing to find a box of shotgun shells and a rifle cartridge or two, but not much else. I peek into drawers, finding a few bullets for a revolver. Our haul stops there. 

"It was stocked earlier, why not now?" I pace and try to come up with an explanation. "Where did it all go?"

" _Muh Phruhreheh,_ " Pyro mumbles. Perhaps that was my name. He hands me the cartridges, and I put them in my pocket along with the revolver bullets. I hold the box of shotgun shells and furrow my brows. My confidence in tonight tanked. Doubt churns in my stomach.

"Pyro, we should get going. Let's go meet up with Scout and Engie."

We leave the armory and turn off the lights, locking the gate behind us. We travel faster while retreating and hide in the staircase to keep watch for any unfriendlies that might happen upon us as a duo. Pyro acts as a guard dog would: Always at the ready and hypervigilant about our surroundings. I think about reaching into my hoodie to get my knife out, but that'd be too weird and would illustrate me as... I don't know what. It would look somewhat bad I could imagine.

Pyro comes out of the staircase when he spots our teammates, and we jog to catch up with them. Scout holds the large briefcase on his back and Engie now carries a large toolbox on his shoulder, panting from having to keep up with Scout. "Y'all come across anything?"

I shake my head. "Leftovers, basically." I shake the box of ammunition, and they both look upset at the lack of spoils. "I'm not great with a gun anyway, Engie. Anything bigger than a pistol would get me in trouble faster than it would get me out."

"You'll just have to stick with one of us," Scout readjusts the briefcase. "Your hands won't help you much, Miss Fredrickson. Let's go help push the payload."

We exit once more and cut through the courtyard back to the resupply bay. Scout uses his headset to ask Soldier where they are with the bomb, my own radio crackling as he speaks. After Soldier responds from the seventh time he's been called, we go around the opposite side of the building that leads to the hideout. The tracks guide us through the darkness the further out of range we go from the field of visibility. Coming to a declining hill, Scout groans as we look at the foot to see the men approaching. My shoulders drop along with my enthusiasm. Scout starts down the hill and Pyro only budges when I do. Demo is the first to notice us.

"'Bout time," he grunts as he digs his feet into the sand. "Get yer arses over here and help us push, the damn hill isn't goin' to clear itself."

There are only about two or three smaller bombs in the cart, as I'm sure the rest weren't active or working. Heavy's minigun- Sasha- and the bag filled with Merasmus's spellbooks rests inside as well. There's room for at least one person to climb in for the ride. On the chipped metal side of one of the warheads, crude writing reads "Heavy was here" in child-like calligraphy. 

Scout throws the intelligence into the cart and picks up my box of ammo to do the same. Soldier sets his launcher into the cart and goes to the head to pull, Scout and Pyro standing at the sides to help from there. I get behind with Heavy, but he puts his hand up to keep me away, Demo taking my spot. "I do not want the cart to roll back onto you. Trust Heavy, is very painful when not prepared. You help Soldier at front, I will catch it when it rolls downhill. This is guaranteed to happen."

I go around and stand next to Soldier, getting a grip on the splintered wood and starting to pull when Heavy gives the command. My fingertips begin to sting as the weight puts pressure on my skin. I dig my heels and try to use the planks of the rails as a footing to make headway in our effort. the wheels grind as we all exert ourselves to get some sort of uphill movement, Soldier getting impatient and yanking in an effort to get up somewhere. He throws himself, and the cart jolts forward as a result of his effort. I pull harder to keep the tiny bit of progress we made, slivers of wood pricking my fingerpads. Engie latches on to help me out while Soldier recovers, and we start to make slow progress once all of us are working together.

"Sorry, y'all. Was setting up, uh- a sentry for us at the top of the hill," he apologizes for his tardiness.

"Don't sweat it, hard hat," Scout says with a strained tone as he pulls from the side. It's quiet for a minute, minus noises of physical exercise. "So, uh, Miss Fredrickson. First time pulling a payload?"

"Yes," I declare. "A lot of firsts for me during this- this escapade."

We're all out of sync, but at least we're is moving. Heavy and Demo are continually pushing while the rest of us have periods of tugging and resting. It's not efficient, but it's something. Engie chimes back in. "I promise that we, whoo, that we don't get abducted all too often, Miss. This is a spe- special circumstance, and I'm sorry this is your first job with us."

"Don't, ah- Don't worry about me too much," I extend my arms and feel the stretch in my tendons. "I'm- I'm just going with the flow."

"C'mon maggot lickers, where did you learn to pull, from _hippies?_ " Soldier growls to try and get us riled up. Scout leans his body into it and slips as a result, the loss in force creating a setback. Heavy grunts as he hunches to use more upper body strength. 

"Get up, Scout!" Engie leans as well. "Your string-bean is showing!"

Pyro and I both begin to start slipping as well, my fingers flying as they peel off the edge. Soldier falls, Pyro on the verge of tumbling down the hill. Heavy grits his teeth as he does most of the carrying, Demo not straining as hard as the Russian. "Do not stop pushing Demoman!"

Demo babbles and turns and uses his back to hold up his amount of weight, giving me enough time to resume my position and get a grip. Scout takes his time in coming back, the cart ceasing its movement backward.

Soldier grumbles. "Okay... We're doing this by the numbers then."

"Alright, but don't yell too loud, you'll give us away," Engie sits on the ground with his hands still tethered to our vehicle, the slope of the hill becoming more and more ridiculous the longer we stand on it.

"Ready, _hup!_ " He speaks in a whispery-command voice. Everyone responds with a " _Hup!_ " in a normal tone as they tug in a small burst. "Ready, _twoup!_ " 

" _Twoup!_ " We pull again. 

"Miss Fredrickson, I don't hear you sounding off," Soldier scolds.

"Sorry, sir," I blink. 

"Ready, _threeup!_ " 

" _Threeup!_ " We near the midpoint.

"Ready, _fourup!_ "

" _Fourup!_ " 

"Would you like to call a Jodie?" Soldier asks as we take a quick second.

Engie declines for us all. "You're going to be their damn rooster at that point, rocket-boy."

"We can call one when we're out of here, how about that?" I compromise. "Haven't sang a good one for a couple of decades."

"I like your attitude, private. Ready," we prepare for his command, " _H_ _up!_ "

" _Hup!_ " We continue to echo him until we get to the top, the wheels suddenly feeling slippery compared to the incline. An itty-bitty sentry beeps before Engie deactivates it and stores it back in his toolbox. He walks alongside us while carrying it in front of his chest. Pyro, Scout, and Soldier all stop pushing to take out their long-ranged tool of choice to defend as we go. I continue pulling, though, to help lead and keep the wheels on the track. My radio crackles and beeps, Scout whispering something into his headset. Soon after, Spy, Medic, and Sniper come running up the hill to join us. I turn away and continue pulling with my arm behind me as to not face Sniper, somehow hoping I'll go unnoticed with my hood up. I hear him make a peep before someone smacks his arm to get him to stay silent.

Right now is the worst time for a meeting, a confrontation, a sobfest, or whatever we'd have. Now that I know he's well enough, I'm allowing myself the grudge I promised earlier. The thing is is that I don't know if it's justified or not. It wasn't _him_. _He_ wasn't the one doing it. Well, yes it was his body but it wasn't his consciousness. Am I allowed to be mad at him? I'm not even that torn up about it, but harboring ill will and bad juju seems like the appropriate thing to do in this case. Actually, would fear be a more valid response than anger? They'd think I was weird for not feeling animosity in any sense of the word. Or would they? This must happen on occasion as not one of them have an issue with each other, namely Medic and Sniper. The former _volunteered_ to go see the latter and here they are, buddy-buddy. If I were to quit, though, I wouldn't need to engage with him. It still wouldn't sit right with me when all is said and done.

"I can see the drop off point," Scout informs. "Track kinda takes a long way, but it should be smooth sailing from here. So, what do you knuckleheads wanna do when we get back to the fort?"

"We have a mighty fine bit of rebuilding to do," Engie sighs as he readjusts his grip on his toolbox. "Damn blast nearly took out the whole side of the building, that's for certain. Know for a fact my garage is nothing but cinders. I think you boys can agree that a beer would be in order?"

There's a commotion of agreeance to the proposal, and I let out an airy laugh. "I will graciously take you up on that."

"Ope, hey now, alright Miss Fredrickson," he laughs. "Didn't take ya for a beer kind of woman."

"If you're referring to me declining one from you earlier, it's only because I like to be responsible on the clock. After hours, the night can take me wherever she damn pleases."

A few of them approve of my sentiment. Pyro does a bit of catching up to walk next to me, still acting in a bodyguard role. It's unclear if this how Pyro normally acts or if this is him trying to make up for what happened. Medic seems to catch onto this. "I'm unsure if you're defending the cart or our feminine teammate, Pyro."

_"Puddah puh_ _hurhrum muh hrrmph,_ " he answers. I don't even have an estimate to what he said this time, it's a fifty-fifty shot. Pyro's head snaps to the Vanguard building, and he turns a few valves on his flamethrower. There's some sort of popping noise, and Demo turns attentive as well. We come to a halt as we all turn to see a blue glowing cylinder flying over to us.

" ** _Pipe bomb!_** " Demo yells, and Pyro aims his blowtorch, a blast of air coming out instead of a flame and returning the projectile back to its sender. We've made too much noise. "We're in trouble, chums."

Everyone readies themselves, Demo turning offensive and taking out his own grenade launcher. Heavy nudges me. "Go, keep pushing."

A spotlight blinds me as it turns on us, many other lights coming on at the discovery of our whereabouts. A siren goes off, and snipers occupy the roof. I let out a laugh in the form of a worried sigh and get pushed with the wagon once again. " **Давай, торопись!** Move it! Sniper, start shooting gun!"

I start to pull and veer myself to the side of the cart to be able to run easier, the crack of Sniper's rifle kicking me into gear. Engie throws his toolbox in and helps push, Scout, Medic, and Spy all following suit as there's nothing much they can do from here. Demo launches grenades back at Laurie, the demoman that was holding me and Soldier on the train. We sprint to get this payload down the winding track, my legs hyperextending to keep up with the other guys. I lose my balance and roll off to the side, Scout running back to come and help me. Soldier hands him his firearm instead and slings me over his shoulder.

"No man left behind, move it, cadet!" He orders Scout to return as we keep up at a decent pace. 

"Soldier, c'mon, put me down! You need to help out with your firepower, don't worry about me!" I wriggle around his grip as he keeps up with the guys.

"Make room, maggots!" Medic and Spy keep up the pace as they clear up space, Soldier flinging me into the cart. My back hits the metal warheads as he jumps in after, taking his weapon back from Scout. Heavy yells in exertion as he tries to upkeep our previous speed but now with the added friction. Soldier takes aim at the roof that's now a ways behind and damns the BLUs. " _ **We're the reason RED is the first color on the American flag**_ _ **!**_ "

The cart jolts forward as he pulls the trigger, most of our men flinching with the send-off of the rocket. Heavy ducks as it just barely careens over the top of his head. It explodes on impact and the spotlight comes off of us. Gunfire ceases, indicating the death of Laurie and the snipers. We keep traveling, slowing down as we near the end of the track. Sniper and Pyro catch up to us, and I sit up to at least see where we're going.

"We've got to clear out, mates," Sniper puffs. "I can guarantee that we're not going to be able to leave as we bloody like."

"Yes, _o_ _ui_ , thank you for the observation. I wasn't sure if everyone got the memo." Spy stops pushing and takes a new cigarette from his tin. Soldier exits and I follow, stumbling but staying standing as we keep moving. I resume tugging at the front with Medic and Scout, haste and purpose about our steps. My back aches from my collision, but I power through to finish our journey, arriving at our destination. Heavy ceases work and sighs, dusting his hands off. The men retrieve their belongings, Spy taking responsibility for the intelligence, and Engie having me hold the box of shotgun shells. I dig into my pocket and come to find out my extra ammunition is no longer there. Spy grabs our attention. "We have run out of time, so we will just have to set off the bomb here."

I turn to see where _here_ is: Around the side of the warehouse section of the resupply bay. Large shipping containers are stacked upon each other right next to what I can assume are gas tanks waiting to be ruptured. The side of the building indents to make a box to house these items. Heavy leads me away as Demo and Pyro set up the payload for detonation. Engie starts to set up a sentry to cover for us in our small moment of vunerability.

A pit widens in my stomach as the dirt, sand, and rocks crunch under us as we walk. "Why do we even have to do any of this? We could have escaped with Vanguard being absolutely clueless."

"Bomb will eliminate most if not all of BLUs. Big rivalry over us and them, so this will make life easier."

Engie falls back and winces as a box slides up under his machine, the sentry sparking, malfunctioning, and beeping rapidly before deactivating. "Shit."

"Oi, look sharp." Sniper raises his rifle, and Heavy starts to rev his minigun.

"Considering that you'll even set it off," George's voice grabs my attention. He and some unmarked BLUs block our exit from the box. "Miss Fredrickson, Mr. Conagher, and Dr. Humboldt, I really hoped you'd be well behaved enough to do the exact opposite of what you're doing right now."

"Well, uh, sorry to disappoint," I say, taking a few steps back behind Heavy. "Guess I forgot to mention that I was a problem child."

Engie opens his toolbox to remove a shotgun, beckoning me over to kneel down next to him. "Know how to shoot a gun, Miss Fredrickson?"

"You're being irrational, Mr. Conagher," George warns. "Yours and Dr. Humboldt's talents go to waste with them. Why would two scientists such as yourselves not use your capabilities t--"

"If you start talking about the greater good, I think I might actually vomit," Medic speaks up. "And that's an accomplishment all on its own. Were you ever going to tell the rest of your followers what you were planning? If it's for the greater good, would you not have told them that they would be used in the process?"

"What is he talking about?" A random voice takes Medic's bait.

"Oh, I see you weren't told about George using you and your friends for medical field tests had our research come to fruition?" Medic prods, George growing a hard look.

"Haha, man, wow," Scout steps forward. "I feel bad for you suckers, weird how he told you and I, right, doc?"

"Yes, even I knew," Soldier piles on, even though I don't think he truly knows what's happening.

"So, you're going to turn on your safety like this," Engie instructs me in a low volume, calm and slow about his movements. "There are two ways you can do this, but we're going to do it the most efficient way."

"Engineer, I don't think now is the time," I whisper.

"Okay, two things to get straight. One: Please, Miss Fredrickson, it's not that hard to call me Engie. Two: It's a perfect time. Stalling is probably the best thing these bastards know how to do other than murderin', just look at 'em." I turn to see Medic and Scout antagonizing George in front of the small group of Vanguard operatives. It's a lot of _he said, he also said,_ the lower tier henchman leaning more and more into Medic's words. "Can you open the box for me and hand me a couple of rounds?"

I do as he says and pass him the shells. "Now, you'll put two in your magazine, also called the tube. You can hold up to five, but let's stick with two for simplicity's sake and the fact this isn't a double barrel. Face 'em the right way and then just push them in from the bottom here."

"I would hurry our lesson along, mate, bomb's just about ready," Sniper whispers and kneels down with us. Our eyes lock for a moment before I look back down to the gun. He reaches and pats my arm. "Hey, we can talk later, but I'm sorry Luv." He gets up to go aid in the stalling.

"Pump your forestock," Engie continues without a beat and stands up, holding out the gun for me to take it. I stand up with him and grab it, keeping my finger off the trigger and pulling down the mechanism under the barrel. "Add another round."

"The last time I shot one of these, it hurt like hell. I'm pretty sure I dislocated my shoulder," I sigh, pushing the round into the magazine.

"Then I'll help you shoot it this time," he chuckles and claps his hands. Medic prattles on with George and the rest of the opposing team, anarchy sounding to be the current direction that the doctor is leading them down. George defends himself by deflecting all questions. His entourage starts to lose faith in their leader and side with us. Hate to be the one to break it to them that they'll be collateral damage for someone's agenda anyway. Not one of them is paying attention to the rest of us uninvolved in the discussion, all moving into position to get ready to retaliate.

Spy cloaks himself and runs off into the night, Pyro giving us a thumbs up from the payload. Scout and Soldier back out of the conversation and step back with us to reload and ready themselves to run. Engie comes from behind me and puts his hands over mine.

"You're right-handed?" He asks. I nod. He rests the butt of the gun in my right shoulder. "Rest your cheek on the stock."

"Engie, I'm going to shoot George, aren't I?"

"Yes," he confirms, gentle and soft-spoken. I feel his breath on my ear. His finger turns off the safety, and I keep my finger off of the trigger. "We're gonna shoot George."

"I don't want to kill anyone," I mutter, training my gaze onto George's head. "I don't want to kill anyone."

"Take a deep breath."

"I don't want to kill anyone."

"We. _We_ are killing someone right now, Miss Fredrickson, because _we_ have to. This is a team effort, ya got that? I know you think you're not a mercenary, but you sure as hell are now. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" He tightens his grip on my hands and shakes me gently as he carries a stern infliction. I nod again. "Okay then, calm down and listen to me."

"I'm just a murderer, though, I'm not getting paid to do this."

"I will personally pay you the amount due for a standard contract kill if that will help you rest easy at night, Miss," he presses.

"I don't want your blood money."

"Then just shoot the man. I don't know about you, but I have family that I'd like to see when I get home."

"Alright, alright," I let out a shaky breath and drop my shoulders for a second to exult grief, quickly assuming position once again. My hands become unstable, but Engie keeps them in place. "I also have a family."

"Then you're doing this for them. You're doing fine. The last thing you have to do is pull the trigger." He taps my finger, and I move it down to the small piece of metal. I didn't sign up for this. Extermination is Miss Pauling's thing, not mine. Dead bodies. That's all I deal with: Dead bodies. I'm just the custodian. My hands get clammy, and I see Sniper bring his rifle up to shoot out of the corner of my eye.

"Waitin' on you, Luv," he claims, Medic's ramblings still drowning out our private conversations. 

Engie's finger curls over mine, just barely able to fit. My nerves cause my knees to feel weak. A cold rush invades my entire body and blood leaves my brain. I exhale.

I apply pressure, preparing for the blast. It comes from behind instead as the payload beats me to it.


	16. Sixteen: Okay so Maybe Things Went a Little Sideways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Miss Pauling)
> 
> Jesus Christ, what did they do this time?

I lift my head, a deafening ringing in my ears. Medic and Pyro run past me, the former yelling out something that is barely audible. My muscles ache, but I disregard it as I begin to crawl. I'm surrounded by a field of arson as the building has ceased to stand behind me. Panting, I strain to prop myself up on my hands and knees, groaning in agony from the shock of the explosion. I fall and roll over onto my back, staring up at the smoky night sky, an inferno blazing on all sides of me. I sit up, finding it easier to stay up this way, transitioning to my feet slowly. 

Stumbling and fighting with my eardrums to keep my balance, I sweep my eyes to observe. Sniper aims his rifle and takes a shot at a runaway mercenary. I can't hear the gunshot, but I can feel the vibration of the sound in my chest. Pyro comes back to me and quells the flames with an airblast, pulling me along with him back to Medic. The German yells at me as he heals Soldier, and I can only look at him with slitted eyes. Soldier deems himself in good enough shape, Medic focusing his healing on me. My ears pop in an instant, and I'm met with a symphony of destruction, turmoil, and gunfire, a choir of despair-filled screams joining in. Turning, I see our guys defending against the never-ending waves of BLUs coming to take our heads.

"Oh my God," I pant, "how are we not dead?"

"Team Fortress staple," Medic calmly says. "Now isn't that the million Deutsche Mark question?"

Scout runs to us, frantic. "Guys, c'mon c'mon c'mon, you've gotta come with me, let's go, move it!" He insists. "We're loading into the vans right _fucking_ now, we can't keep this up."

"Engineer has been taken!" Heavy yells to be heard over his barrage. 

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck--" Scout bites on his knuckles. "Uhh, uhm, alright, uh-- Shit, I can't think."

I take a gander at our situation, rushing over to help Demo stand. He mutters nonsense as his head hangs. I pat his cheek a few times. "Demo? Hey, Demo."

"An' why dontcha- don- don-haaaaaah--" He passes out, and Pyro helps me lay him down on the ground.

He's in no shape to fight anymore, and I think Heavy might run out of firepower soon. He still has his physical strength, though. Sniper, Pyro, Medic, and Scout are all in good health, and I'd like to keep them that way. Soldier needs a break, he's had a rough few days. Where did- Where did Spy go?

Heavy's minigun slows down. I take charge, deciding that now is a good time to be reckless like the Miss Pauling in my head told me to be. "I am immensely disoriented and probably in shock at the moment, but I have a crap ton of adrenaline running through my system. I'm lead, we're doing this my way. Heavy and Pyro, you're going to come with me to go get Engie. The rest of you need to book it to the van, and I mean _book it_. There's no time for anything else. How many vans do we have?"

"Two," Spy manifests behind me. "There would be five to a vehicle if we were to split evenly. Our intelligence is secured for the time being."

"Spy, Sniper, Scout, Medic, Soldier, and Demo. There's six, get out of here."

"I'm going with you," Medic declares.

"I'm trying to have you guys leave as uninjured as possible, and you're literally the most important person right now, so I think _not_ ," I huff. "Any other objections?"

"Then I'll go," Sniper asserts. 

"Fine. Come with me."

"Take good care of Sasha," Heavy confides in Medic to watch over his minigun.

Spy and Soldier help Demo to his feet and walk him out. Pyro leads and continues to extinguish flames, Heavy taking it upon himself to brute force as many people as possible along with Scout, armed with a bat. I spot Engie's shotgun and load it up, tossing the weapon over to Scout who puts it to immediate use.

Heavy mowed down a good chunk of the BLUs, a pile of their bodies forming a giant bonfire pit. Pyro revels in its glory. We split up and start running to our objectives. We go unnoticed in the bulk of the chaos as many of our enemies try to help their fallen and extinguish the flames. We come upon the bridge, or at least where it used to be. The gas main explosion carried over to the front of the first building where we were lodging. There's no way across traditionally. I certainly didn't expect Pyro to take a running leap into the waterway that laid under the walkway. 

Heavy goes after without a second thought, the two of them surfacing and calling us down. Sniper looks over to me as he secures his rifle. "Geronimo, eh?"

He pushes me in and jumps in once we're cleared out. My arms cramp as I paddle over to the open pipe on the other side of the pool. Pyro reaches down and helps me crawl in, Heavy canvassing ahead of us. I stand next to Sniper near the opening and look up at the decimating panic we happened to cause above. Smaller detonations echo against the metal walls, the knockback of one making a couple of pyros fall into the pool and sink with their weaponry. Sniper turns around to start walking, and I do the same. 

"So, Miss Fredrickson," he starts, "I'm _really_ sorry about how I lashed out at you like that. I promise you that that's not who I am."

"I know," I speak low, keeping in mind that our voices echo. "You couldn't help it."

"Aren't you mad at me?" 

"I don't think this is a good time to be doing this." I pull my hood back up. "Get back to me on that."

I press forward, unable to move too quickly or my waterlogged feet would splash and make noise. We come to a small maintenance landing where Pyro uses his airblasts to dry out his blowtorch. Heavy must've wandered the rest of the way down. I hear a metallic _clank_ down the sewer system. Sniper doesn't stop at the landing and immediately hangs a left, picking up his pace to investigate the racket. Pyro and I advance behind him. There's another landing, this time with stairs. A body flies over the railing at the top of the steps and bones crack when it lands. I look upward, Heavy leaning his head over the balcony and calling us up. 

Sniper brings out his rifle again, loading another cartridge. "Any idea where our resident egghead might be?" 

"A couple," I claim, acting as navigation. I jog lightly as to not stay in one place, the guys not too far behind. George's office is a viable place, as well as their basement lab. The BLUs have set up a make-shift clinic for themselves in the stairwell. There aren't many of them, only about five, all injured to varying degrees. The worst one is hanging by a thread, sweating profusely, and laying in a puddle of blood as he laments the loss of his leg and freshly burned skin. All of them flinch as I step up to them, a few lifting weapons to oppose me. I slowly raise my hands. "Tell me where George is."

Their eyes dart around to each other. The one administering shoddy medical services becomes their voucher. "Wouldn't- Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Very much so," I convey. "So, I'm going to ask again with the mention of my lack of patience: Where. Is. George?" Another guy with shrapnel stuck in his arm pumps his shotgun. "Pyro? Can you come up here, hun?"

Pyro steps up to the plate, all of them cowering at the sight of his flamethrower. "Why? Wh-Why would you bring that _demon_ here?"

"Oh, you guys have history?" I tease, knowing full well that the mention of more fire would spook them.

The one dying from blood loss sits up, trembling. "I-It burned d-down o-ou-o--" 

He falls and rattles death. I shift my weight back and forth from my toes to my heels, and I put my hands down. "So... Barbeque: Love it, hate it?"

"Don't! We're not-- We don't--"

"Heavy? You barbeque often?" 

The Russian joins in, cracking his knuckles. "I have eaten bear meat cooked to perfection. Heavy hunted bear with sisters and beat it to death with nothing but hands. Made meat tender and delicious."

"He's in the intelligence room," their voucher breaks. "Upstairs, armored door."

"Pleasure meeting you guys," I ring, passing them by. I snatch the shotgun from the shrapnel guy. "I'm gonna need this."

Pyro stares to scare them into keeping their mouths shut. We race down the hall, retreating immediately at the sound of gunfire. Sniper yells out and shakes as he holds his thigh, marveling at the fact he got shot. A rocket blast takes care of whoever was shooting at us. We go out onto the battlements, Soldier popping up from below and landing on his feet. "Greetings, maggots!"

"I told you to get out of here," I argue, glossing over the fact Soldier basically _flew_.

"You're lucky we don't answer to the authorities when it benefits us," he smiles and reloads. 

Sniper curses, and I turn to see Medic pulling a bullet out of his leg. Heavy watches. "Do not be baby, Sniper."

"You guys have to get your asses back in that van," I order.

"Don't worry Miss Fredrickson, just changing a few seats," Scout puts his arm around me and has me carry his weight.

I groan and push him off. "Anyone who is not Pyro and Heavy, _leave_."

"What about me?" Sniper whines as Medic heals him.

"You've been shot, you're getting put into time out."

"Miss Fredrickson--" Soldier starts but I cut him off.

"As your commanding officer, I am giving you official instruction to return to your post, do you understand me, Soldier?" I yell.

Soldier salutes out of habit and sounds off with a sharp _'Yes, Ma'am!'_

"And I mean it when I say _leave_." 

"Spy said he wouldn't start driving until he saw you guys load up into the other van. Accountability or some shit," Scout flips his bat a few times. "Looks like you're stuck with us."

"I have a shotgun and I'm very afraid to use it. Doesn't mean I won't. If your name is not Pyro, Scout, nor Heavy, your ass is mine. It will be on _sight_."

"Alright. Damn." Scout stores his bat in his bag and helps Sniper off the ground. "Whaddya need me for?"

"Sniper's out, you're in." The extraneous members of our group depart. "Be careful!"

A body appears out of nowhere behind Scout, a spy falling to the ground. Cassius wipes the sweat off of his forehead and lowers his knife. He nods his head at Scout. "Since you spared my life, I saved yours."

He exits without another word, and we proceed the same way, reaching the armored door that the BLU mentioned. Heavy lowers his body stance and rushes the door with his shoulder as his battering ram. He runs right through and we enter, weapons at the ready. 

"You all are extremely rude guests," George pants while reaching over himself to hold a pistol to Engie's temple. His clothing is dyed purple from his extreme blood loss from his stomach, a large piece of metal embedded in his organs. Engie is seen inserting their life-extension device into his arm. "I open my home to you for not even three full days and you thank me by blowing half of the place up."

"Not like we wanted to be here in the first place," Scout scoffs. "You guys are full of shit."

"Let's make it clear that I'm holding a gun to your friend's head, meaning I can shoot him whenever I please," his voice wheezes as Engie works with bloodied hands.

"Give me a good reason not to decimate your cranium right now, my good sir." I flip off the safety.

"I honestly don't have one. You probably wouldn't be able to shoot me before I shoot Mr. Conagher, though. You're a bit too small for your gun. Be like Maeve here." He lifts his eyebrows, Maeve cocking a pistol behind me. I turn around, unhindered, tapping my forehead to the barrel. 

"Do it," I spit. 

"Miss Fredrickson, don't," Engie opposes.

"I didn't say you could stop," George wheezes, tapping the gun against his hardhat. 

"I'm sorry Miss Fredrickson, I--" I cut off Maeve and smack her gun out of her hand, the firearm sliding over to Scout. He picks it up, and I promptly turned back around to aim at George. "Don't shoot my father, please."

"I can't hear you, maybe you should try calling me on a walkie?" I ask sweetly, a hard expression on my face. 

"Okay then," Maeve complies and exits to go find a radio.

Scout trains his new handgun on George and Pyro his flamethrower. I rest my cheek on the stock and keep my focal point on George's head the best I can. Engie moves slowly with hesitation, blood spurting out onto the couch each time he moves something. He sticks a prod into a muscle. "You don't want me to do this sir, I've told you time and time again."

"Turn it on, you hick, I've got somewhere to be." George cocks his gun this time.

Engie hesitates, sighing. "You've done did this to yourself." He turns on the device, and George sits up, grabbing ahold of the large foreign object in his abdomen and ripping it out. He gushes gore but quickly stops as the Australium flows through his body. Scout shoots him once in the chest, George brushing it off and shooting Scout in the same place, then shooting Engie in the shoulder. Pyro yells and turns the valve for gas to start hissing out. George shoots Pyro in his arm, Heavy getting three bullets to the stomach. I shake and lower my gun, all and any drive draining out of my system. The BLU bumps me out of the way and leaves the room. I pant, looking around at the guys. Engie heaves and beckons me. "Mi-Miss, Miss Fredrickson."

"I fucked up, I should've shot him," I drop the shotgun next to me as I sit on the couch and apply pressure to his wound. "Oh my God, I should've shot him, I'm so sorry."

"Don't go, argh, don't go apolo-apologizing to me," he winces. "We'll be fine. Go finish your business."

"N-No! I'm not leaving you guys," I insist as red gushes onto my fingers. 

" _Mur-humph,_ " Pyro interjects as he uses his good arm to apply pressure to Scout's injury. Heavy props himself up against the wall, unphased by getting shot three times.

"See? We can manage," Engie dryly laughs and places his gloved hand over my hands. 

"No," I persist. Scout coughs.

"I swear I will die on purpose, Miss Fredrickson," Scout wails as Pyro presses harder. "Go get him."

"Little lady," Heavy calls my attention. "Go now or I break your spine."

"I- Why would you say that?" I stutter and look back over to Engie. He picks up the shotgun.

"Is motivation because I do not know how to be supportive other than saying 'Heavy believes you can kill man.' I would go do this task should I not have reason to think major organ has been shot."

"How's about this? Be a darlin' for me," he groans as he stands up, pulling me up with him, "and give 'em hell."

I take the shotgun from him. My handprints paint the weapon red. Scout stands up with Pyro's help and gets transferred to Heavy, still ignoring his bullet wounds. I shake my nerves, feeling doubt in my purpose. If this is how they need me to help them, this is how I'll do it. "You guys wait for me in the sewers, I'll be there as soon as I finish up. Go to the van if you run into trouble, alright? I promise I'll be in one of those vans. Do _not_ wait up for me if you're in immediate danger."

Leaving, I run through the hall emanating panic as I seek out George. I'm scared. This isn't what I wanted in a job, not by a long shot. I just needed the raised income thinking I'd simply be handing out contracts to a couple of goons instead of hunting a deranged mercenary with a gun. Never did I ever think I'd be tracking a human down like a twenty-point buck in the middle of a season. I'm pissed with myself that I didn't take the shot at George when I could. Scout could quite possibly be well on his way to death, and that's simply because I didn't want to cause one. Letting them down, that's all I'm doing. These guys are in this because of me, it feels like. Merasmus wouldn't have needed to do sorcery or anything if I just didn't bother Miss Pauling. All of this is my fault.

And I have to fix it.

I reach the stairs with the make-shift medic, pointing at him. "Where did he go?" He exhales gently, and I hesitantly hit him over the head with the butt of the gun. "I'm not _fucking_ around with you, where did he go?"

"Into the kitchen! I saw him go into the kitchen!" He puts up his hands to protect himself from getting assaulted again. I end my conversation with him and walk down the stairs, going into the kitchen, the only place untouched by the madness. I go back to where the incinerator is, George loading up gas canisters of all sorts into the furnace. 

"Miss Fredrickson, I know you're not going to shoot that thing," George hums, going about his day as if nothing is wrong. "You're too fragile for that."

"Shut it," I bark, lifting the stock up to my shoulder. 

"Do you want to know how I know?" He pulls his gun out of his pocket. "Because I have no problem setting you up with me."

"You wouldn't," I mutter. "You couldn't, your daughter is still here."

"The same way your friends are here~" he sings hauntingly, closing the furnace door and turning up the heat. "So it seems like your only choice is to let me leave."

He bumps me again as he passes. I watch the furnace glow orange. I furrow my brow. Why would he be doing this? None of this makes any sense. My thoughts break as a burning sensation rips through my back. I scream, landing on my face and crying out in small bursts while I struggle to reach for the shotgun. Tears well in my eyes, and I ball my fists, getting onto my knees and pulling my shotgun to me. I'm sleep-deprived, acting solely from terror-filled instinct, and in possession of both a knife and a gun. I will not be apologizing for anything I do next. 

I clench my teeth as I stand up, a firearm in hand. Reaching into my hoodie, I pull out my knife and flip out the blade, breathing out of my mouth as I follow George with steps of varying distances, stumbling right behind him. Twice more in the abdomen. My eyelids feel like cinderblocks as my body tells me to give up. I use the gun to prop myself up, taking baby steps over to George, falling into his grasp. He laughs at my efforts. My feet slide across the tile floor as my blood rushes out of me. I swing my arm and take a stab at his neck. 

He drops me and chokes while sliding down to the floor, unprepared for my counter. I crawl over to him, pain and revenge being my driving force. I exert to stand on my own, holding my arm over my bullet holes as I walk, hunched over and depraved. My fingers are slippery and warm, the life oozing out of me with each passing second. Landing my foot on George's exposed arm, I crush the mechanism and pop the vial. He wheezes and grabs onto my ankle for help. I laugh at him, breathless. The barrel swings a few times before I can place it sturdily on his forehead. No second thoughts, no remorse, I pull the trigger.

I didn't even hear the bang. The gun jumped out of my hands as my confirmation that the job is done. I let go of my items and hobble away, letting tears roll as I go. I get as far as where the bridge used to stand, collapsing to my knees, satisfied with my work. I look up the smoke-filled sky, the fire on the other side of the moat still raging. I begin to cry. I sob, letting everything flow out of me as I stare into the sky and damn fate, condemning myself as I question God's way. The building bursts behind me, forcing me to lay down. I continue to bawl, breathing heavily and hugging my aching body. She's been through enough. I close my eyes, just to rest them for a while. Just until I can gain enough strength to keep going. 

The cracked dirt is warm and comforting, wanting me to sleep six feet under it. I shiver. If I ever thought I felt hopeless before, I didn't. But at the same time, I don't. There's a wonderful emotion of happiness blossoming within me. I helped out in the end, right? I did it for the team. I laugh dryly. I finally did what I was supposed to do in the first place. I helped out the guys. Even though I'll be leaving behind my family, I still did something. My little brothers... I haven't thought of them the entire time I was here, have I? Horrible, aren't I? I roll over onto my back, someone putting their arm behind my shoulders and sitting me up.

"Fredrickson! Please, jeez, I swear-- Fredrickson!" Her voice sounds like that of a seraph. "Hey, c'mon, look at me!"

I open my eyes, the sky still full of ash but now painted pink with some luscious blues to accent. I turn my head to face Miss Pauling, lifting my arm and pushing her glasses up for her. "Hey, you're here."

She laughs in relief. "Fredrickson! We have to go find Medic."

"Medic...?" I trail off, my eyes unfocusing. "Medic?"

Who's Medic? Is she getting _a_ medic? "Stay with me."

"What do you mean? We live together, why would I not?" I strain. "Oh, _Medic_ ," I sigh, remembering the german man's face vaguely. "Ther-There he is."

"This isn't good," he speaks, looming over us with his hands behind his back and a concerned look. "Very very not good."

"What isn't?" I whisper.

"Fredrickson? No one else is here..."

I blink. He's gone. "You're right." I grit my teeth as I stand up, Miss Pauling holding me at her side with my arm over her.

"No, no," he protests, following behind me and leaning over to speak in my ear. "I'm very much so here. Your condition is dire, Miss Fredrickson. Do try to hang in there."

She leads me through a hole in the chainlink fence and to a van, strapping me into the passenger seat before she slips into the driver. I lift my hand to my stomach, slowly inching over my clothes to cover my wounds. They sting with the fabric irritation. My body jolts at the burning sensation. Miss Pauling starts the car and backs up. I glance up in the rearview mirror, Medic looking back at me as he sits behind Miss Pauling. I melt into my seat, whimpering as I close my eyes, Miss Pauling grabbing my bloodied hand and squeezing tight. "Don't worry, Fredrickson. I've got you."


	17. Seventeen: Wellness Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Miss Pauling)
> 
> Wha-- Hmm? "As told by Miss Paul--" Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean I have to do another one of these? I was NOT briefed for this, I didn't think I'd have to do two in a row. Uh... Fredrickson doesn't want to go back to work? Is that good enough? Why do you look so disappointed? You're the one who didn't prep me for this. I'm- I'm going now, the Administrator needs me.
> 
> Don't call me.
> 
> Bye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter art of Miss Fredrickson made by me!)

Going through the doorway is always a gamble. Will she be sitting on the armchair to tell me I'm dead, or will she have a look of disappointment because I forgot to switch out the clothes in the dryer before work? Standing in the middle of the hall isn't an option that I can do forever, so the time I spend contemplating my mortality status has lessened greatly as I've recently been worrying the neighbors. That's probably for another reason entirely, but the bottom line is that I can't idle by in the musty hall as long as I'd love to. It's late, eleven o'clock, and the hours of mischief are upon us. I tap my thumb on the strap of my purse. Miss Pauling comes up the stairs during my spell of staring at the wooden barrier. She gets out her key, unlocks the entryway, and swings her arm to motion for me to get in.

"You live here Fredrickson," she begins as she sets down her overwhelming pile of office work. She flicks the lights on. We both leave our shoes by the door. "You can enter your home whenever you want."

"I know," I claim. "It's Friday, your show is on."

"It actually ended yesterday," she tells as she walks into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. "It wasn't the ending I was hoping for, but it wrapped up nicely. Oh, hey, Henry threatened to shut off our water again."

The mail hasn't been looked at yet. "What is it over this time?" 

"I think he does it so women are forced to interact with him at this point." She smiles at me when I sit at what we call our dinner table: A smaller-than-average square table with one chair on each side. She wants to talk about it. My eyes wander away from hers and down to the stack of envelopes in front of me. Miss Pauling comes over and sits next to me, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "They need to know."

"No, no they don't," I oppose and pick up an envelope. They can stay in the dark as long as I wish them to.

"Fredrickson," she scoffs.

"Mm-mmm," I shake my head, setting aside the outer casing to read the letter. Bank statement. I set it back down and stare at the logo, unable to get my eyes to look over the rest. I don't have to talk to them.

"Listen, I don't think you understand the gravity of what you're doing."

"I do." My heart weighs on my breath as my throat closes up. "Don't think I don't 'cause I do." Not thinking about them is easier. It makes me feel less trashy when I shove it away and sweep it under the rug for later. Maybe I should've died, then I'd feel less horrible about it.

"Well if you do, then maybe you can... Fredrickson. _Fredrickson!_ "

I ignore her and walk back into what you could technically call a hallway, opening my room and shutting the door behind me. She hasn't brought it up for two weeks, why now? She never mentions things unless they're relevant. It's been somewhat peaceful. I haven't asked her about her work and she hasn't asked me to ride along on any jobs with her. Things were back to the way they were when we first started living together: we stayed out of each other's way. We can't do that anymore, I guess. Our lives are intertwined through this job, and I'd like to untangle them. My room feels lived-in, but by someone else as though another person was staying here in my place while I was away. Unbuttoning my uniform, it's decidedly time to go to bed. It's easier to avoid the subject that way. I pop off my name tag and set it down on my nightstand, confining my clothing to the hamper.

There are darkened marks on my skin where my scars are, three in total. They all vary in size and shape, but there they all are, medals of shame and cowardice. I try not to look at them too much in the mirror because then I start to think of _them_. It's hard not to stare, though. My finger runs up and down the indentations on my stomach. It doesn't hurt anymore as I assume almost all medic mercenaries are versed in the dark arts of healing. I don't even know who healed me to be completely honest. It wasn't the German, that's certain.

I have a feeling the scars aren't too noticeable if you take a quick peek, but I bask in their full glory each and every time I expose my belly. Miss Pauling knocks on my door, and I pull on an oversized football jersey that acts as my nightgown. I open my door and let her in, sitting on my bed. She sits down with me, hands folded in her lap. "I have to give the Administrator an incident report."

"Then give it to her," I say. 

"I will, but I also need to report whether or not you'll continue working with us," she asserts. "I have to turn it in two weeks from now, so I want you to make your decision before that time."

"You already know my choice, I don't want to go back."

"Fredrickson, look," she sighs annoyance and turns to me, "they ask about you. A lot. I can't keep telling them that _'I'm working on it'_ or _'I'll keep you posted'_ about whether or not you're alive."

"Why so against lying now? Time and time again did you tell me that lying to them while looking them dead in their eyes was never an issue, so why are you on a morality trip all of a sudden?" As much as I want her to tell them the truth, I just don't. The shame is unbearable.

"Because I have to keep declining their requests for a search party which would be a waste of resources and time when I'm standing in the same room as you."

"Then--" I shrug and lay on my back, covering my face. Caving seems to be the only option to get her off of my back. "Then tell them I'm fine."

She lays down next to me with her arms crossed. "So you'll stay?"

"No."

"Then what am I telling them?"

I remove my hands and turn my head to look over to her. I'm torn. I need the job, I really do, but the risks outweigh the rewards. Spending time on pondering what would be said to my brothers if they get notified of my death is always unwelcome. I'm just a waitress to them, not a secretary that hands out a little sheet of paper that has a deadman's name on it. I didn't even get to do that, I failed my preliminary reports right off the bat. I did nothing to help them besides killing a man, and it's embarrassing. I shouldn't even be alive right now. To think that if Miss Pauling wasn't there to recover me and that no one would know any different... It should've gone that way. All Miss Pauling did was divert fate. "That I'm fine but I'm not working with them anymore."

"You were only there for three days," she sighs. 

"And then I spent another three dead and two being a captive. Add up the three more days I was supposedly in a coma and the two weeks I've been home, and I'm not looking to be an ideal candidate for an upstanding headstrong woman like yourself."

She sputters a laugh. "My first years on the job weren't perfect. Granted I didn't go through what you did, I still made a lot of flukes that the Administrator _and_ the team patiently put up with. Maybe all of your small flukes decided to make a big one so you can get into doing your job well enough."

"Assuming that I have a predetermined number of mess-ups," I volley. 

"Who's to say you don't?" She lifts an eyebrow with a smug smile. I look up to my ceiling. 

We pause for a few seconds. I haven't asked about them at all this entire time, and it's rude of me not to do so. Five of them were shot because of me. I speak again. "How're they holding up?" 

She sits up, and I do, too. "Repairs to the base are nearing completion, and the guys've been slightly displaced for the time being. Some of them are a long way from home, as you know, so living arrangements- though a bit odd- are being accommodated for. I heard that they're changing up a few things about the layout; mainly relating to the barracks since the previous configuration didn't work out."

I chuckle despite the fact she didn't give me the exact update I was wanting to hear. "Can you believe they all share a single bathroom?" 

"Do they?"

" _Yes!_ " I exclaim. "I was wondering why they don't just use a different bathroom around the fort, but I guess it's just because it's the closest? They argued about it both mornings I was there."

"Yup, sounds like a thing those idiots would do," she smiles and pushes her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. "They feel bad, Fredrickson."

"The cold-blooded killers feel bad?" What a hypocrite am I?

"Yes."

"They only knew me for like, a week! And even then, they hated me for most of it."

"Still people. They're capable of basic human emotion, Fredrickson, don't give them too much credit. Did they just turn into hardened warriors during your impromptu adventure?" I shake my head, knowing that she's talking about the fact that they act like young children during the most inappropriate times. "All you were doing was your job and they put you through hell and back, that's a valid response. Not commenting on the idiocracy of their plan whatsoever. With that said, Pyro, Medic, Scout, and Engie are the most persistent with asking about your whereabouts. Engie... Engie is _frustratingly_ good at being irksome when he wants to. Medic, I think, likes having you around as a source of organs for when you have to get rid of bodies, full disclosure. Heavy hasn't come to me directly about it, but he's always nearby when I'm talking to the other four about you."

"Heavy?"

"I can't explain that to you if you can't explain it yourself."

"Aw," I mock. "No Sniper?"

She shakes her head. "He has his own way of managing feelings like the rest of them do. That doesn't mean the concern isn't there. All of them have tried squeezing information out of me in their own way. I really want you to think about this, Fredrickson. Remember, the Administrator would probably throw you to the dogs if you decline anyway."

"Yeah, yeah," I groan as I get up to go to the bathroom. "Night, Miss Pauling."

She pats my shoulder when we stand in the hall. "Goodnight, Fredrickson." 

I walk into the bathroom while she takes to the kitchen, finally pouring herself that cup of coffee. I braid my hair and use a scarf to protect it while I sleep, moving onto brushing my teeth and washing my face. When I exit, I hear Miss Pauling talking quietly with someone on the phone.

_"This contract is personal... No, The Administrator hasn't authorized your work clearance, yet, but it's a personal favor to get it out of the way. I think you guys would agree that this one is worthwhile despite there being no reward. You've worked with your target before, so you'll have to do a bit of double-crossing... I'm bending over backward for this to happen given that all of you are **grounded** to Helen, Engie, so don't get sour about it. _

_"Technically, you guys shouldn't be moving anywhere, and your prison break idea goes against your terms... I understand your concern, Spy... No... No to that as well... Are you guys up to it? Good, I'll tell you more tomorrow when I head over to check on the finalization of construction in the morning. Oh, the Landon contract? Yes, I think--"_

I stop eavesdropping and head to bed, flipping off the lights and faceplanting into my pillow. I didn't take the mercenaries as the type to hardly get bent out of shape over matters like this. It's not like I don't have questions or unfinished business with the guys myself, but... Mercenaries? How would our reunion even work? Wouldn't they be mad, even in the slightest? I not only refused to see any of them but I roped Miss Pauling into this and had her cover my ass by lying to the guys and telling them that she just doesn't know where I am. 

And hearing that Engie is hard-nosed for seeking me out. Pyro I can understand, but Engie, Medic, and Scout didn't do anything to me. Technically, most of them didn't. I'm having a bit of a problem believing that _all_ of them are as determined as Miss Pauling has marked them down as. It's beyond rude of me to not notify them of my current state. If I were to go back, it'd be out of necessity and guilt. Of course, I still have my brothers to care for as my responsibility which means I have to look out for myself and stay out of harm's way, but I remember Engie saying that our whole... Trip was a special circumstance. Who's to say he wasn't just trying to deter me from leaving?

Even if I return, I don't think they'd be satisfied with what they're getting from me. I killed a man. I can't wash that off. I don't want to do it again. My performance would be less than ideal for them because I'd do nothing but sit on a fence all day and night about whether or not I should murder someone. 

Morning came rather slow as I haven't been sleeping as easily as I used to before all of this happened, and I'm stirred by Miss Pauling shouting at someone over the balcony rather than my alarm clock. She's fifteen minutes off, but at least she's an effective rooster. She sounds as though she's arguing, so I finally drag myself out of bed and go into the living room and stand in the sliding door frame. Looking down, I see Henry with a pipe wrench on the fire escape.

"Oh no," I drone monotonously with a sarcastic undertone. I speak up so everyone else on their balconies can hear. "Henry, please don't shut off our water, you're too much of a good guy to do that. Whatever would Sarah, the tenant you try so hard to impress, from one-oh-four think about you harassing the two women in two-oh-four?"

He coughs and opens his mouth to speak, but I turn back around to go inside and take a shower. I'm quick with the water in the event that Henry ultimately decides to screw us over for at the very least today. I'm spared the shortage in time, Miss Pauling still locked into combat with him outside. Taking a fresh orange uniform out of my closet, I button the six buttons on my waist and pin my nametag on the front. I grumble as I unbraid my hair in the mirror before tying it back into a ponytail, catching a glimpse of my roller skates in the closet. Parma _did_ mention that they started a carhop-type deal while I was away, and it _has_ been a while since I've used them...

I push the skates into my purse, grab my hat and jacket, and run over to the front door, taking my keys from the table and stepping onto the balcony to yell a curse at Henry, tell Miss Pauling to have a good day at work, and push a plastic pot full of dirt through the iron railing onto Henry. It misses him by a few inches, meaning I should probably get out of here. Finally getting out, I wait for two cars to pass before crossing the street to catch the bus, promptly at seven-thirty. There's a few more stops within the small suburbs before we start down the barren desert highway, the sun running slightly behind schedule as the sky is still a dull, burnt sienna. Twenty minutes later, I arrive at work, stepping off the city vehicle and across the parking lot into the small but bustling diner.

One of the newer servers, Jennifer, whizzes by the front door on wheels and almost knocks me over, a sweet and soft "Sorry, Mona!" left in her wake. She's young, eighteen if I remember. She's doing well for her first job in the food industry. 

"Ah, Mona! _Buenas dias_ ," Vince calls from within the kitchen as I squeeze in between two people with their chairs out a fair bit. 

"Morning, _T_ _ito,_ " I greet as I walk back into the kitchen to get to the office. Parma waves to me as she talks on the phone with someone, and I wave back. I open the closet and hang my bag, taking out my skates and pulling up a chair to put them on properly. They're a bit squeaky from the lack of use, but they're competent enough. Parma smiles at me as I roll out of the office, delighted to see me having a bit of fun on the job like I did when I first started working here. Popping into the bathroom, I take a quick second to wash my hands and check over my uniform, digging my hands into my skirt pockets to get rid of the weird feeling they have when they aren't tucked in. 

Jennifer waits patiently at the window, stood on her toe stops. I careen over to her, picking up a pen and a pad. "You're creating a bad habit by using them to stand still, Jen, sweetheart."

"I'm still getting used to them," she excuses. "I obviously haven't been using them as long as you have."

"Which is why," I sigh and roll back to a man seated at the counter, "you should practice standing still on quads instead of your stopper."

She looks down at her feet and lowers onto the wheels, holding onto the wall to keep from drifting away. I hum as I flip the page on my notepad and look to the man sitting on the barstool across from me. He has a familiar feel about him, but I can't place it. Has he come in before? I'd have remembered if he did since he's dressed in a suit, unusual for our regulars. A white dress shirt and a black tie. He has a five-o'-clock shadow and grey hairs growing within his dark brown ones, all slicked back on his head. The man doesn't have that great of a posture as he leans over the bar. There's a cigarette smell attached to him. "And what am I getting for a gentleman in a nice suit?"

He points to something on the menu, and I scribble away as he speaks. "A short stack is alright, Miss--"

I point to my nametag. "Just Mona is fine, sir."

"I like to be formal," he speaks with a weird accent. I can't describe where I think he might be from. "Miss Mona; is that okay?"

"Sure, whatever you like, sir," I smile and take his menu from him. "I'll get that right out."

I move over to the window and slide my ticket over to Vince, noticing that the bulk of the crowd left with the eight-o'-clock bus. Minus a small family of four that Jennifer is billing, it's just the lone man in front of me. He looks bothered by something. I push off from the wall and grab onto the marble table-top to pull myself in, tapping my pen gently on the stone. "Something the matter?"

"I'm on my way to visit a friend," he quietly talks. "I have not seen her in a week or so. It might not sound like much to you, but she has been acting rather odd lately. She might be sick and keeping it from me."

"No, I understand." I lift my foot and spin my wheels by brushing them against the floor. "How long have you known her?"

"Not for long, it was a chance meeting, but we've been getting to know each other. She hasn't returned any of my calls, so I thought I'd go to her," he continues, reaching for a newspaper. "A bit of the secretive type about the most trivial of things."

Reminds me a bit of Miss Pauling, she won't even tell me her first name. "Maybe she has a reason?"

"I know the reason," he chuckles softly. "I'm just more worried about whether or not she's in good health. One of her friends asked me about her a day ago hoping that I perhaps heard from her."

"Well, I hope she's doing fine." He looks at the headline on the paper and sets it aside. 

"I don't like to read bad news when I'm hoping for good." 

** Fifteen More Confirmed Deaths from _Builder's League United_ Fire **

I look away from the article. The man studies me. "Did you know someone who worked there?"

"Something like that," I hesitate on how to twist the information. 

"A tragedy, for sure. My condolences," he apologizes.

"Oh, I mean, I didn't lose anyone there, it's just..." I rub my arm. "It's complicated. I did have few friends attached to them, though. We haven't spoken in a while."

Vince rings the bell in the window, and I turn to grab the plate, setting it down in front of my customer. I hand him silverware, pouring him a cup of coffee afterward per request. "Thank you, Miss Mona."

"No problem," I sigh. Jennifer calls me into the kitchen, and I excuse myself to skate over. The brunette holds the office door for me and we both go in, Parma standing up from her chair and wobbling over. She's in her sixties and very inexperienced on skates. She laughs gleefully as she gives herself a gentle push to me, her hands up in excitement at her small journey.

" _Tita_ , you're going to hurt yourself," I caution and hold out my arms so she can use me for support.

"I have to start sometime, Monita," she giggles. I help her to sit back down. "I was only trying them. Vince and I are going to learn together."

"Both of you are going to hurt yourselves," I repeat, hugging her. "Just don't do it here, I can't have you suing each other."

She laughs and smacks my arm. " _Ay, que--_ _Volver al trabajo."_

I smile at Jennifer before swooping back to the counter. The man is now the only one there. He's done with his pancakes, but I refill his coffee anyway and take his plate and place them in the window, Vince taking it back from me to wash. 

"How long have you worked here?" My singular patron strikes up another conversation.

"Ten years. This would be my eleventh."

"Loyal," he deduces. "Have you considered working elsewhere?"

I flatten my lips and stick my hands in my pockets. "Yes, but it fell through pretty quickly."

"Did you not like the tasks?"

"Some of it that, some of it my coworkers," I hum. "They're not horrible people or anything, but the pressure put on by them is immense."

"High expectations?"

I watch a car go by through the windows at the front of the building. I remember hearing the guys' words before my showdown with George, shuddering. Ringing up the bill, I slide the receipt and a pen in front of him. "Even though I should've been prepared going in? Yes. I feel as though I didn't meet the standards they had for me."

"Were they the ones caught in the accident?" He signs the receipt and hand it back to me. I nod. "Maybe you should check on them."

He digs into his pockets for his wallet, handing me a fiver. The cash register rings as I open it up to give him his change. He takes it from me, but takes out a ten, handing the bill to me. "A tip, for hearing out a stranger."

"Thank you, sir," I smile at him and fold the money to place it in my pocket. 

The man slides on his jacket, reaching inside. He takes out a tin and opens it for a cigarette. My jaw hangs slightly, unsure if this man is who I really think it is. He lights his cigarette and puts the tin away. His accent turns French. "You should perhaps call your coworkers. They are all very worried about you, _Madmoiselle Fredrickson._ "

" _Espion,_ " I whisper. 

"I thank you for breakfast, _madame_ , but I prefer you giving orders instead of taking them," he declares, sliding his sleeve up his arm to check his watch. "I'm late for a meeting, but I will be seeing you."

"Spy, wait--" I huff, but he's gone in a blink of an eye. The front door swings open, but I don't bother pursuing as he could've gone in any direction from there. Crafty sons of bitches, aren't they?


	18. Eighteen: The Mann in the Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Sniper)
> 
> Sheila wasn't too happy to see neither me nor Engie. Would expect her to be a bit less closed off, we almost died together is all. ut Miss Fredrickson is just a normal woman at the end of the day, and I can't be too hard on her for acting like one. She's overloaded like this is all exceedingly too much for her to handle, especially when the very bloke that tried to kill her is the one who's tryin' to convince her to stay.

Spy showing up to my place of work last week is one thing, but Sniper and Engie inside my home this week is another.

Henry, in his latest stroke of genius, did I-don't-know-what to the pipes. He has a master key, so he could've just screwed around with the piping in our kitchen and bathroom while we were both away at work. Nothing was working this morning. _Nothing_. It was misery to get ready, and our next-door neighbor- an older woman who's extremely lonely- was kind enough to let us use her water supply. It was weird showering in someone else's space, but it was a necessary discomfort. Miss Pauling said she'd find a guy to fix it, but I wasn't expecting the very people I was avoiding.

The two haven't noticed me yet as I stand in the doorway, Engie halfway missing into the cabinet under the sink and Sniper holding the flashlight for him with his head in the cabinet as well. I stare for a while, unsure of how to approach this situation. Miss Pauling comes out of her room and looks at me. I twist my face in a pleading manner, hoping she won't acknowledge me.

"Hey, welcome home," she says, crossing her arms. My brows lower. 

Sniper bumps his head and yelps, backing out of the cupboard and looking toward me. Engie slides out as well, growing a grin when he sees me. I showcase a strained smile, but more so over the fact that Engie is seen yet again not wearing his hard hat. He still wears his goggles, and Sniper replaces his hat that was resting on the dining table. Both are dressed casually in the sense that they aren't wearing anything that would tie them to being classed mercenaries. Engie reaches for me.

"Hey, funny story, I think I forgot to go pick up some stuff at the store so, Eng-- I- I guess this is what we're doing now." He pulls me into a hug and rests his head in the crook of my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist. The stubble on his chin scratches against my skin. I sigh and hesitate for a few moments before hugging him back with my arms around his neck. "Howdy, partner."

"Don't you _'howdy, partner'_ me," he whines, releasing me and placing his hands on my shoulders. "You mind telling me what the hell all of this is?"

"It's me, going to the store so I can wait for you guys to leave my apartment."

"Hold on there just one second-" Engie stops me from leaving. "It's good to see your face again, Miss Fredrickson."

"I'm not Miss Fredrickson," I argue.

"Bah." Sniper keeps his distance by standing with Miss Pauling. "Who else would you be?"

"Mona," I blurt, "because that's my name."

"Fredrickson is still part of your name," Miss Pauling joins to oppose me. "They're nowhere near wrong for calling you such. But, I can run down to the store instead, consid--"

"Uh-huh nope, don't worry I got it," I hum. "I'm going to go pick some stuff up at the store."

"I'll drive you." Sniper raises his hand. "It's getting late, wouldn't be too kind to have you out by yourself."

"No, it's fine, I-I'm- I'm going now. Please don't be here when I get back." Engie refuses to let me go despite my protests.

"He's got a point, Miss Fredrickson," he alleges. "I have to fix this mess, and Sniper ain't much help on his own; Can't even hold a flashlight in the right place and you'd think--"

"You're bloody inconsistent!" Sniper raises his voice. "I can't read minds, so you have to tell me when to move it."

'Goodbye," I interject and duck out, footsteps following close behind. I pick up the pace and start running down the stairs. Whoever's following me catches up and turns me around, Sniper standing before me.

"Come now, Luv," he says, fishing his keys out of his pockets. "I have my van here, I'd be a wanker if I didn't take you. You'd also be saving on busfare." 

I cave immediately, knowing that there's no winning with this bunch. "Okay, take me to your transportation o' great chauffeur."

We walk to the front of the building, Sniper holding the door open for me and walking next to me as we arrive at his campervan. I didn't have expectations about what he'd drive, but I didn't imagine him living in one of these. It's a bit dusty on the outside, but that's not out of the ordinary assuming he's nomadic. He unlocks the doors and opens the passenger side for me to slip in, rounding the front so he can get into the driver's seat. It's roomy, another person could fit up here if they wanted. There's an ashtray on his side of the dashboard, minimal debris caught up in it. I look behind me, his rifle mounted on the back wall in case of an emergency, and I take note of the lack of seatbelts. Sniper shuts his door as he settles in, a bobblehead on the dashboard clicking gently as it nods away.

He starts the engine and backs up, turning the wheel as far as he can to pull out of the parking lot. I don't talk, watching the street through the windshield. There's only one store in this small gathering of people we call a town, even though we're more of a village if anything else. The street lights pass us by, and I look over to Sniper when I feel his eyes on me. His face lights up as we pass a lamp, but he returns his attention to the road when we pass the next one. He throws on his turn signal to drive into the parking lot of the store, pulling into a spot further back from the front of the building as all of those are taken. We sit in the van for a few moments before I slide out through the passenger side, thinking that Sniper would just wait for me... Which he doesn't. 

Sniper goes in with me in, following me around as I browse while pushing a cart. He rubs the back of his neck and readjusts his hat. "You left us."

"I have a right to do so," I assure myself as I pause to inspect avocados. 

"I know, Luv, but you could've called," he groans.

"I did."

"Miss Pauling did. A week ago."

"And?" I huff and grab a plastic bag to fill it. 

"And it felt like you didn't care too much about us," he settles his temper to keep the volume down as there's still a good number of people milling about with us. "We all thought you were dead, Miss Fredrickson."

"You think I didn't feel bad?" I scoff, moving along with my shopping. "I think about it every single day, Sniper. It's in the back of my mind, _constantly_. I can't escape it, you guys are all I've been able to think about for the past three weeks!"

"Then why not--"

"Then why not reach out? To think that a group of grown men are so fixated on me. I have other responsibilities to take care of here. I have a family that I'm not ready to leave for them to fend for themselves. And I know you're going to say that it's an occupational hazard, but I was so unprepared for that. Unprepared beyond any reasonable measure. The way that we handled that was... Something else."

He pulls another plastic bag for me. "No, I understand. We shouldn't have put that pressure on you, especially Engie. He's a bit of a stand-your-ground kind of bloke and doesn't like unfinished bizzo. Yea, it was wrong of him to ask you to do that so suddenly, but you needed the kick in the nads. I don't think I can tell you how many times Miss Pauling has put one in between the eyes of what seemed like an extraneous crowd member, but casualties are all in a day's work. It's in the job description.

"You, in particular, are a weird bugger. You're fine with dead bodies, but you have a problem with creating 'em? Scout told me of your little problem with Medic, and I honestly thought the two of you would get along on a subject like that, I dunno."

"Okay, listen," I exhale and get close to him to whisper. "I wasn't the one who took their life. That's how I see it. I have no issue with clean up because they're already gone. Taking their life and playing around with it like it's a toy is another. Medic does that. And honestly? I don't care too much what he does, it just took me by surprise at first. I may not agree with his values, but we _can_ still get along."

"Then came back to the fort," he pleads. I step back from him and keep pushing my cart along. He trails behind, looking around as we go along. He taps my shoulder. "Oi, sticky-beak's following us."

"No," I say, "they're following me."

"You don't sound too surprised about it."

"It happens every time I come here, that's why Miss Pauling typically does the shopping," I explain and move out of produce to the canned food aisle.

He lifts an eyebrow. "Why would they be following you?"

I drop three tins of coffee grounds into the cart and face him, looking up at him. "You see me, right?"

"Yea."

"And you saw the other people in this store, mm-hmm?"

"Yea."

"So, I want you to pick out the difference between me and them. Know what it is, hun?" He furrows his brows. "I'll let you think on that." I continue to shop, Sniper periodically eyeing down our shadow. I thought it would've been something he could point out on the spot. Anyone could, that's why I find myself in these situations. He speaks when I look at cereal.

"Deadset persistent, isn't he?" 

"Found out the difference yet?" I hum. He crosses his arms and stares at the box I'm holding, trying to sort out his logic. I change the subject, hopefully going to get the answer Miss Pauling didn't give me. "What are you guys doing back at the fort?"

"Rebuilding is almost complete, and we're starting to move back in. Well, the others are. I didn't use my room in the first place. Live out of me camper." I get on my toes to reach for a box on a higher shelf, but Sniper gets it down for me. I thank him and set the new box in the cart. "You should move back, too. Found some of your things intact."

"Meh," I shrug, "still not entirely convinced that that's what I'm going to do."

"C'mon, Freddie," he eggs.

"Mona," I shut him down. 

"Freddie," he counters, "we need you. You saw how much of a mess we are, Luv."

"True."

"So come with us."

"Why do you guys want me there so badly? Miss Pauling would probably just find someone else for that role, you don't need _me_ specifically, do you?"

"I've already warmed up to you, and I don't warm up to folks easily." We continue walking over to dairy. "I'm an anti-social, Freddie- a dag. I don't warm up to people, I tolerate them."

I laugh and check the eggs in a carton. "Is that so, or are you using flattery to bargain with me?"

"Oh, are we setting up a bargain?" He asks, sliding his hands in his pocket.

"Are we?" I step away, taking out two cartons of milk from a different freezer. Sniper moves the cart out of the way for a woman trying to get butter, and she smiles at him in a way that seems as though she's trying to silently flirt with him. He stares at her stone-faced, a tad confused as to what she's doing. I tap Sniper out of the way so I can reach my basket, the woman's face turning displeased as she storms away at the revelation that he's here with me. His expression softens when I look at him, and he does a double-take to confirm that the clerk is still following us. His gears are turning. Was this not something that he was exposed to? Does he live under a rock or something? I press forward to the butcher. "Any other reason as to why you guys want to keep working with me so badly? You're like a litter of lost puppies with how much whining you've done."

"I dunno," he claims. "Personally, I want to clear my name. I'm not a deranged psychopath, and I don't want that to be your impression of me."

"Self-preservation, then," I guess.

"Eh, sorta, yes. I promise, Freddie, we're not all that bad. A bit looney, I'll admit, but we're just a buncha wankers at the end of the day."

"If I go back, I'm not sure I'll allow you to keep calling me 'Freddie.'" I pick out a pack of pre-cut meat.

"Alright by me, s'long as you're around," he trails off as he looks at the person following us. " _Piker_."

"Just don't pay attention to it," sigh.

"But he's--" he takes a step away from me, but I grab his arm to keep him by my side.

"No, Sniper. Don't make a scene, they leave you alone if you leave them alone." He grumbles under his breath. The woman from before spots us, and I stop touching Sniper before she decides to raise the alarm on whatever suspicious activity that she makes up in her head. I bring his attention back to me. "What's your grand plan to change what I think of you?"

He sticks his hand out. "'Ello, Luv."

"You're kidding," I put. Is he doing that weird 'Let's Start Over!' trope?

"The name's Mick Mundy. I work for Reliable Excavation Demolition as a contractor. My mates call me Sniper 'cause I got a sharp eye." I stare at him, with a slightly disgusted look, some sort of discomfort twisting my insides. "I thought we already accepted that we're weird together, so just take my hand, Luv."

I look around for any possible spectators, shaking with him once the coast is clear. "Hello, Mick, I'm Mona Fredrickson, and I work at a diner in Nowhere, New Mexico."

"Is that what this place is actually called?" He questions, I nod. "Crikey... Also, tell the truth about where you work."

"I did."

"No, you didn't," he returns, tightening his grip on my hand. "You also work for Reliable Excavation Demolition as an assistant."

I groan and let go of his hand. "Don't call me an assistant, I actually hate that term."

"That's what you introduced yourself as."

"I know, but that was because I didn't have a better name for it."

He hesitates and laughs. "Then we'll give you a new name. A class one like ours."

"Don't you dare," I demand. He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger. "Uh-uh, nope. I don't want to hear it." We make it to the register, our pursuer taking his sweet time to return to where he was supposed to be: Behind the register. 

"You find everything all right, sir?" The clerk asks Sniper instead of me as I load the items onto the counter.

"I would've had you not been following my mate here," he accuses, annoyed.

"Store policy, sir," the clerk drones.

"Whaddya bloody mean _'store policy?'_ " Sniper raises his voice.

" _Sniper!_ " I sharply whisper. " _Stop._ " The clerk rings up my purchase and bags it up. I sigh and take two twenties out of my uniform pocket as the register says that I'm due thirty-four dollars and seventeen cents. I hand the worker the money and rub my arms. 

"Have a nice night," he yaks, placing all of the money in the register and closing it.

"Oi, give the Sheila her change," Sniper lips, an attitude about him.

"No, it's okay, let's go," I utter, picking up my groceries. He pulls me back by my sleeve. "Sniper, stop it. You're going to make a scene."

"Come on, 'and it over." Sniper holds his hand out.

"Have a nice night, sir."

"Mick," I grit, refraining from grabbing him in any way. "Let it go."

He growls and spits on the counter. _"Fucking piker."_

I walk away from the counter, pulling the cart along with me. Sniper grabs my arm, walking fast and causing me to leave the cart behind. We exit into the parking lot, Sniper towing me all the way to the van, and helping me with my groceries as we enter the vehicle. He's more upset than I ever thought he would be, grumbling Australian profanities under his breath as he starts driving. I sit next to him as my items sit closest to the passenger side door. I let him cool off, hands folded in my lap, and watch the street. "Please don't do that ever again."

"Can't do that, Luv," he seethes. "It's nineteen-fucking-seventy-one... Asshole."

He curses some more as he parks at my apartment building, panting as he grips the steering wheel. I pick up my bags. "I was talking about you spitting on the counter, but I'd prefer you never do that other thing, too."

"Oh," he states with a bit of shock. We stare at each other in the darkness before I exit through the passenger side. He leaves after me and runs to catch up. "You... You should stick with us, Freddie."

"Mona," I reiterate. 

"Please." He blocks the door. "I'm begging you, Miss Fredrickson."

"You don't have to," I claim. "I'm still working things out, and I'm teetering in the middle. I'm finding more pros but also the cons to balance them out."

"You've got just a week left," he warns. "I'd figure it out quick."

"Your only reason for wanting me to stay can't be that you want me to think differently of you, I'm already over that. I... I really don't care about that anymore. There has to be more."

"Well yes, I mean--" he hesitates. "You're a fucking tank. I mean, look at ya! You survived, what? Two bomb blasts?"

"And three gunshots wounds."

" _And_ three gunsh-- Wait, you got shot?"

"And I was also dead for three days."

"Miss Fredrickson..."

"And I also was threatened probably six times the entire time I was there, as well as somehow walking off having blood rocket out of my nose."

"Luv--"

"Hey, you might be onto something here... I _am_ a tank." We stand looking at each other in the doorway. His shoulders slouch as he stands in awe, taking in everything I just told him. He scratches his face and turns away to take a mental breather, and I feel the awkward settle in. I shift my weight from one leg to another, clutching my paper bags to my chest. Never did I ever think that Sniper would be the one to do this to me, to create a space in which my body wishes it was elsewhere. I take that back, he'd definitely do that. He _has_ done that. I whistle and lean forward to reach for the door. "Why did you stop talking, why are you like this?"

"Gah, I'm sorry," he follows me inside as he apologizes. "What we did in that store right there is more talking than I'm used to doing."

"And you're twenty-eight?"

"I'm a bushman who was an only child on a farm in Australia, Luv, I don't know what you expect from me."

"Not creating awkward silence?" I mention as we climb the stairs. "Don't you have friends?"

"Outside the fort? Nah," he reveals. 

"Really? Not one?"

He nods and takes my things from me so I can get out my key. "One or two back home, but we haven't written to each other in a while. Left on bad terms anyway. I'm used to being alone, sitting up in a tower all day, remember?"

"You looking to change that?"

"You offering?"

I shrug and hum. "Mmmaybe." I cut him off as we get the same thought."But I'm still not sure on going to the fort again."

"Aw, piss," he puts, dejected. I smile at him and open the door, closing it behind the Aussie. He sets the bag down on the kitchen table, Engie poking his head out from the bathroom. 

"Was wondering where the two of you were at," he calls as he goes back to work. "Thought you just up and left."

"Would've, probably," Sniper says.

"What took y'all so long?" He asks.

"Just talking outside," I answer before Sniper and walk into the bathroom to check up what's happing. Engie faces me as he turns on the shower faucet, the water shooting out like it's supposed to. He shuts the water off and picks up his wrench from on top of the toilet cover, pushing past me to collect his toolbox on the kitchen floor. 

"You finished?" Miss Pauling comes out of her room.

"Yes, Ma'am," Engie concludes. "Miss Fredrickson, could I talk to you for a moment?"

I'm drained for the night, what with Sniper's rivetting review and our confrontation with the store clerk. Would I still be able to handle a coherent conversation? Yes. Do I want to do it right now with Engie? No. 

"I have work tomorrow, and it's late." 

"It'll only be a few minutes," he pushes. "Please?"

I hug him to direct his attention elsewhere. He accepts, but I push him away relatively quickly and walk around him to put away groceries. There's silence behind me, and I can only assume that they're giving each other looks. Engie sighs obnoxiously and picks up his toolbox.

"Uhm, thanks again for coming on short notice," Miss Pauling ushers them to the door.

"Not an issue," he says. I look up at him from the fridge. He was already looking my way, so I just look back. We glare at each other.

"Goodnight Engie, Sniper." 

"G'night."

"Good night."

Miss Pauling closes the door and slides on the chain. She stands with her arms crossed as I close the fridge. "Don't."


	19. Nineteen: Regroup and Rebrand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Demo)
> 
> Lass isnae too happy to see our coupons so close hame. Miss Fredrickson is loused, didnae need to be said. She mibay thinks we're a touch mental, but it has to be done. Showin' up jaked is always a pure class way to get a quinie to open up.

Another night of normalcy in our deserted diner. The desk fan whirrs as the three of us sit in the office, off in our own little worlds. Vince sits and watches his game on the tube TV sat on a stand, leaned over his lap, and blinking as little as possible as though he might miss it in its entirety if he does. Parma sorts bank records, her thin glasses teetering on the edge of her nose as her bracelets jingle with each time she moves her hands. I sit next to Vince, thumbing through a magazine that I had found around here. There's no telling who it belongs to as it's a catalog for restaurant appliances. It's interesting enough to compare prices and features to see which one would, in theory, be the better steal. I am currently rooting for an automatic dishwasher priced at No-Way-Will-I-Ever-See-That-Much-Money-in-Cash-Ever dollars.

Jennifer rolls into the office, patting Vince on the shoulder. "Mona, _Tito_ , there are some people that came in." Vince looks over at me, and I sit up in my chair, setting the catalog down. "I have to get home, classes start up again soon."

"Don't worry, _chica_ ," Vince says and stands up to go reach for the TV dial. "Monita."

I check the clock next to Parma. Ten PM. I have to call Miss Pauling before the day is up to give her my final decision. Standing, I forget I'm not on skates for a moment and almost trip over myself from my lack of coordination. Parma holds out her hand, still seated, as if she was going to catch me, and I confirm with her that I'm fine before picking up a pen from her desk and pulling my pad out of my pocket. Late-night foodies aren't too big of a deal; they're usually a group of teenagers who have just come back from a party or school event, typically marching band and sports. I didn't do much in high school as roller skating wasn't a sport that had an active team, but I joined debate for a while before that disbanded due to budget cuts. Not much was there at school aside from class and skipping it.

My feet become as heavy as stones as I look out of the kitchen window to see Medic's head before he sits down. Scout's the loudest out of all of them. I sigh and throw my head back for no reason in particular other than to express how done I am with this. I knew it was a bad idea to let Miss Pauling tell them I was alive. Still, you can't leave someone wondering about that. Vince fires up the stoves and looks apologetic towards me, shrugging as he preps. Shaking out the nerves does nothing for me but my feet begin to move anyway because I'm still on the clock, therefore meaning I am subject to the earning of wages; assuming these guys don't stiff people, that is. If they do, they certainly won't tonight with how desperate they are. I grab menus, getting ready for a long night.

They all sit within booths, Scout, Sniper, and Spy all fitting together when the rest of the guys sit in twos. Medic is the first to notice me, acknowledging me with a smug smile as he rests his head on his hand. Scout turns and looks over the booth seat, calling out to me with a new level of overzealous about him.

"Hey, hey, Miss Fredrickson!" He laughs as he sits back down when I come to the table he shares with Sniper, Spy, Demo, and Soldier. "It's the Scoutmaster, he's back, baby! That uniform fits you pretty well, can I add?"

"No you cannot, and there is no 'Miss Fredrickson' here, only Mona," I sigh, setting down menus in front of them, moving onto the other table with Medic and Heavy on one side, Engie and Pyro the other. Standing in a stupid orange waitress's dress with grease stains on the skirt and minor burn marks all over my hands and arms is, at the very least, absolutely humiliating. This is who I am. This is what I've been doing all of this time. Not one dead person in sight. I shouldn't have bit the hand that feeds me, this is so much more than what a lot of my friends have to work with back home. I should've kept my mouth shut and stayed content with organizing papers in a basement with TF Industries during my free time for pocket change. "I don't understand why you thought this was a good idea, but you're here anyhow."

All of them are dressed in casual clothing with polo or t-shirts and long pants, save Pyro. How Pyro can wear his flame-retardant suit all of the time is beyond me, but it must be the same willpower that Engie has with his goggles, Spy his mask, and Soldier his helmet. I crack a smirk at Engie's head, unsure if it's legitimately funny anymore or if I do it out of habit. He addresses me. "Hmm, guess Spy was doing this place more justice than it needed."

"Dinnae care too much about looks rather than food," Demo talks and hands his menu back to me. "A cheeseburger, lassie."

"I will be having whatever Demo is having." Soldier gives me his menu back, too.

"Onion rings or fries?" I flip out my notepad. 

"Fries," they answer in unison.

Scout wraps his arms around Spy and Sniper, pulling their heads closer to his. "Me and my pals will be, uh, getting that, too. Onion rings, though."

"Please stop touching me," Sniper murmurs. Spy picks his arm off.

"I actually want fries," the Frenchman corrects. I lift an eyebrow and scribble out the last thing I wrote down. I snatch their pamphlets and walk to the other table.

"And for you, dear?" I ask Engie, a small grin forming on his lips. 

He slides his card across the table, stacking it on top of everyone else's. Guess they knew what they wanted before they came here. "I have made it a point to try out BLTs wherever I go."

"I believe our last visit together revealed you need to watch your fat intake, Engineer," Medic reminds him, fingers intertwined on the table, thumbs tapping, and a knowledgeable look. Everyone's disposition changes as though they've heard this countless times before.

"Aw, you're right, Doc." Engie crosses his arms and leans back, turning to me. "Put extra bacon."

"Engineer, _no_ \--" Medic tries to redirect him, but it's too late, everyone is laughing. I chuckle with a smile as I write on my notepad. Medic rolls his eyes. "A salad."

"Caesar or ranch?"

"Whichever rabbits like better," Soldier interjects, Medic frowning now. The guys continue their humor at the doctor's expense. "Scout, did I do it right?"

Scout lays his head down on the table as he laughs, thinking it much funnier than everyone else. "Oh man, yeah-- Whoo, yeah, you did good Soldier."

I rub Medic's back and pat him a couple of times. "It's okay, sweetie."

"Caesar," he finally responds, miserable.

"Heavy, h--" I stop myself before I call him 'hun.' "Heavy?"

"Doctor, what is word for this?" He leans over to Medic and points at one of the pictures on the menu.

"I'm not ordering that for you, _Bärchen,_ " Medic takes off his glasses to clean them, maintaining his approach.

"Engineer, what is word for this?" Heavy repeats, a hint of nuance in his voice. Engie rises and stands up to reach his gaze over the table. 

"That would be a Philly cheesesteak," he tells me. "And Pyro'll have a strawberry milkshake." Pyro mumbles. "Apologies, make it chocolate."

"Nothing to eat?" I ask Pyro. He shakes his head. "Okay, I'll be right back. And I'm giving all of you coffee, I feel like I'm doomed if I get any of you intoxicated."

"Don't worry, lassie, I already went an' did that for ye," Demo pleasantly says, a smile about him as he lays his head against the window. "Helps me think clearly."

"About what?"

"How we're goin' to convince ye to stay."

"Oh, _this_ again."

"Why else would we be 'ere, Luv?" Sniper pushes his body up against the window on his side since Scout takes up much of the space. "You'd be the only bloody explanation."

I tap my pen against my fingers. "Wow, you're right. Excuse me while I go hide in the kitchen after I'm done serving you."

The front door jingles open, Miss Pauling stepping inside. "I don't think you'll be doing that." Oh, great. The entire gang is here. Our newcomer taps Pyro's arm to get him to scooch over, Miss Pauling fitting in the open space he relinquishes to her. We stare at each other, my eyebrow raising at the sight of her.

"Are you going to order or...?" 

She laughs. "Right uhm--" She turns to the rest of the table. _"What are you guys having?"_

"I'm giving you a caesar salad," I announce. "If that'll be all, I have a few appliance catalogs to browse without the intention to buy anything."

"Fredrickson, I have to make that call to the Administrator _tonight_ ," Miss Pauling mentions. 

"Ha, as if I would've forgotten. A bit late, though, it's already ten-fifteen."

"You and I both know we have until midnight," Miss Pauling presses, picking at her chipped nail polish. "How's about this: You actually hear the guys out this time instead of constantly shutting them down. They have an hour and forty-five minutes to make their case, and you make your decision at the end of deliberation."

"A juryless trial where the prosecution's _only_ tactic against the defense is to say that they want me there?" I snark, laughing, and walking back to the kitchen. "Yeah sure, okay. Let's see how this goes."

"Was not a no," Heavy declares. He cracks his knuckles. "I accept this challenge."

"We even completed our forms for you, Miss Fredrickson," Medic holds up my scuffed up binder and sets it down on the table.

"Mona," I correct.

"We even completed our forms for you, Mona."

Miss Pauling smacks her forehead. "Don't encourage her, and that was supposed to be used for later, Medic."

"I don't enjoy playing games that aren't fun, Miss Pauling."

"I'll be right back," I sigh, turning back at them for a split second to point. "And wash your hands, ya hooligans."

They stand up once I'm behind the counter, moving as a tribe into the men's room. Miss Pauling is also gone, and I am hoping she didn't go in with them. Vince flags me down by ringing the bell. "Who are these men?"

"Coworkers," I tell, "ex-coworkers. They're trying to get me to take up my old job."

"Maybe you should, Monita," Vince's voice fades slightly as he gets to work. "If they came all the way here, I think it's worth it."

"But, you and Tita--" 

"--Have Jennifer now, and we might be getting a new server here in a few weeks. _¡No hay que preocuparse!_ You need to take care of Salvador and the twins still, no?"

"Yes, I do," I sigh pensively, rubbing my temples. "I'm thinking about it."

"That's all they sound to be asking," he adds.

I walk around to the kitchen, starting two kettles of coffee since I know they'll be here a while and that Miss Pauling is going to be drinking the bulk of it. Vince stands and waits for the burger patties to start sizzling before working on anything else to ensure all of it comes out around the same time. Radio plays from the office, the host on the show speaking in rapid Spanish before playing another song. Both kettles are talking their time in warming up, not enough heat radiating when I hover my hand over it. All of the stoves were turned off for a while, so we might be here longer than usual. Going back upfront to set their mugs down in their spots, I realize the guys still haven't come back from the bathroom. I investigate, standing by the door about to knock. Eavesdropping sounds like a better idea.

_"That's all? That's the only thing you guys have?"_ I slit my eyes at hearing Miss Pauling's voice.

_"It's not like we had ample time to get anything solid, all of it is based on personal opinion,"_ Engie sounds exasperated. _"I mean, I like her. But- But that's just because she treats me like the rest of you guys."_

_"And what is that supposed to mean?"_ Sniper asks.

 _"Like an idiot,"_ Engie chuckles, a few of them laughing along. _"She doesn't really pay too much attention to our IQ levels."_

 _"Because you never told her yours in particular,"_ Spy bursts his bubble. He's the closest to the door. _"Perhaps we could entice her with the promise of answering all of the questions she may have, but she may just disappear once she has run out of them. Though, the pay could be enough to keep her here."_

 _"All of you already know why I want her to stay,"_ Scout claims.

Demo speaks up. _"Wantin' to shag a quinie ain't a valid answer, dinnae be a fuckin' weapon, lad."_

I frown and step back slightly in discomfort. He does nothing to dispute his assumption, and they move onto Medic. _"I think I can speak for all of us when I say 'I simply just like her.' She doesn't question much of what we do, not verbally at least. Mona lets us do what we need to do, and I think that's the honest sentiment at the end of the day... I also haven't marked her progress in over a month, so I may or may not have missed out on some developments from her long period of death."_

_"I'm already comfortable around her, I don't think I'd be able to handle 'aving another new person come and take her place. She's more than tolerable,"_ Sniper rumbles. _"As the doc said, she doesn't ask too many questions. She's also a piece of work; might give a few hits a run for their money with the fight she puts up, ey?"_

_"She makes a good commanding officer, you maggots never take control of our flight the way she did,"_ Soldier stacks his input. _"Though I wouldn't have broken our battalion up in that way, she at least did it with her men's best interest in mind. Had she not taken charge, I doubt we'd have made it out in one piece."_

_If I could play devil's advocate,_ _"_ Spy speaks to Miss Pauling, _"What would happen should she not come back? Could we not scare her or would she just be free to go? We've been operating under the suggestion she made to us earlier that the Administrator doesn't take no for answer."_

 _"Yes, Heavy also had this question,"_ Heavy adds. _"Little lady does not want to be there. Why make her join team? I do not want to be watching over another baby if baby does not want to join team."_

_"Because Helen doesn't take no for an answer. Fredrickson would be killed in the days following this one had I not pre-confirmed. She'll still die if she's a no-show, but we need her back willingly. She knows too much about your existence and the feud going on between you guys and BLU, Helen would see Fredrickson as a liability if not kept close and **will** exterminate her. Not to mention that the remaining BLU operatives might also be seeking her out. She might be on the cusp of caving for all we know, we just need to push her a little more."_

They're all quiet, the chill of her statement seeping through the door. My breathing turns shallow. I have no choice but to accept. I know I told them that previous people have vanished, but the weight of it hasn't settled in until now. Not until I thought about me being next. I knock on the door, my voice somewhat shaky. "Are you guys okay in there?"

There's scuffling inside, Demo opening the door. I try to peer past him, but he moves his body. "Belter, lass."

"Uhm, just making sure. You all disappeared at the same time so... I can get you your coffee right now if you want?"

"Aye, coffee sounds tekul."

"Coffee sounds what now?" 

"Sorry, Scot's tongue, coffee sounds good." He exits the bathroom, everyone filtering out after drying off their hands, Miss Pauling slipping past me without a word. Diverting to the kitchen, my kettles are warm and the coffee is hot. Vince stands at the stove, watching his food cook. I grab the kettle handles and walk out to where the guys are, filling their mugs one by one and getting them creamer and whatnot. Pyro sits patiently, his head following me as I set his milkshake down in front of him. I watch him stick the straw through the vent of his mask filter.

"Wouldn't that--" I start, but stop myself when Pyro looks up at me.

" _Mrrph?_ "

"Nevermind."

My observation is stopped short by Vince ringing the bell in the window. Soldier starts to talk as I walk off to go get their food. "Ma'am, permission to speak."

"As much as I don't want to, granted," I call, loading plates onto a tray.

"Don't retire," he commands.

"Would you be willing to conduct my reenlistment?" I joke.

"I'm not an officer, but I'd be happy to," he perks up excitedly as I set down his plate in front of him. "Where would you like the ceremony to be held?" I smile apologetically at him, and he loses his enthusiasm, aggressively eating a fry. The clock reads ten-thirty.

Sniper opens his bun and takes out the tomatoes inside. "There's still my idea to give you a class name. Would that make you feel more at home, Freddie?"

"Sniper," I sigh, returning to the window to get the rest of their plates. "I refuse, do not do that. And it's Mona."

"C'mon mates, have any suggestions for Miss Mona 'Freddie' Fredrickson?"

Walking away from the table is always a valid option, but I still have to play into their hands. They mull it over during my short time away to pick up condiments and needed silverware. Scout reaches over the table and takes a fry from Soldier, using it to point at me. "Too easy. Assistant."

"Call me that again and no will be my final answer."

"Damn, okay, uh... Ally?"

Spy smacks Scout's hand away when he tries to reach for his fries. "I'd prefer something more sophisticated. What would your opinions be on 'Auxilliary?'"

"Too square," Medic answers in my place. "It would be rather satisfying if we called you 'Backup.'"

"Like Heavy once said to me: _'I will break spine,'_ " I oppose in a low voice. I can't go against them too much, though. Sitting alone at a table next to their booths, Spy moves over to me to prevent from Scout reaching for his meal. 

"Flunky," Demo whispers, I purse my lips and pretend I didn't hear him. 

Soldier takes a couple of stabs. "Apprentice. Deputy. Accessory. Partner."

"I'll admit, I like the 'A' names," I cut them some slack. "Give me something good enough, and I guess I'll stay."

"Really, a stupid nickname?" Miss Pauling stabs her fork through a crouton, the metal hitting the ceramic. "That's all it'll take?"

"Maybe," I tease. "But in reality, no, that's not all it'll take. This job provides what I need, but that doesn't mean I'm not reluctant to take it back. I might as well find an enjoyable aspect of it so it's all the less arduous. I- I overheard all of you in the bathroom. When you put it like that, there's no way I can't accept." Everyone looks defeated as if I said no to them on the spot. I'm returning because I'm hard-pressed for life, not because I want to. I try to move us along. "You sound jealous that the guys didn't give you one."

"I'm not, no..." She pours herself more coffee.

"Then I don't see the issue."

Sniper goes to bite his burger but some of the ingredients slip out, so he goes to reconstructing his food. "Still need a name for a Sheila."

Heavy looks over his sandwich and pipes up. "Abettor, Aide, Asso... As-Associate?"

"She's not a retail worker," Engie differs. "Adherent, Adjunct, uh, ah--"

Pyro slurps on his milkshake, turning all attention on him. He takes his time, removing the straw out of his mask, stirring the contents of his cup, and hunting down every last bit he can get. The guys go back to eating, getting tired of waiting for Pyro to make an addition to the list of candidates. He mulls crestfallen once there's nothing left. I rise and hold out my hand to take his cup. "Let me get you a refill, sweetheart."

"Hey, why don't you ever call me names, Miss Fredrickson?" Scout complains. 

"You want more coffee, dumbass?" I spit with a grin, trying to hold back a cackle as everyone else basks in the mirth I created. I go to make another milkshake. "Did I do it right, Soldier?"

"Good use of your bullying privileges there, private."

Spy's chortles are the most prominent out of everyone's distinct way of laughter. Scout sits, distressed at the turn of events. "Yeah, yeah, laugh at Scout now until you need a meat-shield for later."

"Whoa, is that a thing you guys do around here?" I set Pyro's new milkshake down in front of him and sit with Spy.

"Sometimes." Heavy finishes his sandwich.

Pyro taps Miss Pauling's arm a few times, using his hands to gesture that he wants her to get out. She slides and stands, taking up the spot next to Engie and moving Pyro's milkshake to the edge of the table for when he returns. He stands near me.

" _Mrr-Humph-Heh,_ " he says. I squint. " _Mrr-Humph-Heh."_

 _"_ You suggestin' a name, Pyro?" Engie inquires. Pyro nods and shakes his fists next to an open hand to signify he wants something to write with, picking up my pen from the table and a napkin. Medic stands up to get a look at what he's writing down, snatching the paper away the very second Pyro lifts his pen.

"It's suitable and high-class just as Spy requested," he mutters to himself, rubbing his chin. 

"Spit it out, Doc," Demo requests. 

"Accomplice," he says. _"Komplizin."_

Pyro nods. " _Mrr-Humph-Heh."_

 _"_ Accomplice, heh, I like it." Scout rubs his hands together. "Means we can get into some real trouble together."

Soldier and Demo both kick him under the table. 

"You do look like an Accomplice type-a gal if I do say so myself," Engie inputs. "You've already been a co-perpetrator to multiple crimes- federal and state- so I would argue that we've got the perfect name on our hands." 

"That's beauty. Couldn't 'ave said it better myself," Sniper grins. "That good enough for ya?"

Would it be comical enough to say no or should I continue to pull the theatrics to achieve that effect? The Administrator means business, and there's absolutely no doubt in my mind that she wasn't messing around when she told Miss Pauling that I was expendable. I cross my arms. "A promise is a promise." 

Spy stands up, grabbing my face and kissing both of my cheeks. " _Magnifique!_ "

" _Ooh, Das ist ein sehr guter Tag."_

Miss Pauling, Engie, and Scout pour out of their seats, Scout snaking his arms around Miss Pauling's and my hips. "Nice to know we're getting another fine woman on the team."

"All the better to remind you neither will get with ya," Engie maintains, pulling me away from Scout. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"You already have me here."

"Alone, I mean." He rubs the back of his head. "I have something I need to give you out in my truck."

"Well, I have to finish up with you guys and get my stuff to go. I can't just leave-- Yes, I can," I stutter, Engie leading me out the door with his hand on the small of my back. The air outside is dry and hot, cooling down a degree or two from last month as it's now the middle of September. He keeps ahold of me until we're next to his truck as though I was going to bolt and start running away from him at any second. His truck is... A truck. There's not much to it, not from the outside. It's a two-seater, three if it's anything like the interior in Sniper's van. Taking out his key, Engie unlocks the door and sits in the driver's seat, reaching over to the passenger side and pulling out a blue briefcase encased in the shadows of the night. We sit down at the edge of the bed of his truck, looking out into the parking lot. "What's in it?"

He dials in a code onto the keypad. "What I promised you." It pops open, bundles of cash neatly laid out in stacks. "It's the pay for a standard contract kill."

I become breathless. "H-How much?"

"Thirty grand."

"Oh my God," I gasp. Thirty grand would easily take care of a bulk of the debt I have with the boarding school my brother attends and would settle a portion of the loans with the bank. I cover my mouth. "I can't accept this."

"There's no amount of apologizin' I can do to erase the fact that I asked you to kill a man out of revenge that would do nothing to benefit you, but I am- at the very least- a man of my word. And I told you I'd pay you. You're a mercenary-for-hire now all because of that one request, whether you like it or not. The name's a bit of a double meaning because we would've gone on calling you Miss Fredrickson had things not--"

"Engie-" I close the briefcase lid. "No, I can't."

He drops it into my lap. "Consider it your first paycheck and compensation."

"I'm just going to give this back to you when we get back to the fort," I admit.

"No you're not," he mentions. "That's yours. There's no amount of fussin' you can do to convince me to take it back. Use it for your family, that's why you're in this whole mess with us now, isn't it?"

The metal of the case feels warm on my thighs. Numbers are etched into the steel. "Mm-hmm."

"Hope I'm not too forward, but Team Fortress is a bit of a family, however dysfunctional we may look." He brings up his leg and rests his ankle on his knee. "So... Welcome, Accomplice."

A bus pulls away from the stop across the street, and I groan. "I was supposed to get on that one."

"Give ya a ride home if you'd like. I volunteered to come and pick you up tomorrow with Soldier to head to the fort."

"You won't be staying there long," I turn my body around, seeing a man with a TV on his chest. The Administrator sits in her office, turned around so we can only see the back of her chair. "I have a new assignment now that you have your new team member squared away."

"So soon?" Engie asks.

"Yes. We must get this done in the following week as your targets are planning on fleeing the country," her voice is somber but stern, all business and no wiggle room for her orders to be misinterpreted. "This group, the Peytons, owe me quite the sum of money and they're trying to get out of paying me. I think we all know that that isn't an option. Here are their files. You leave for the specific airport disclosed in them tomorrow no later than midnight, you'll make it to Florida by four in the morning so you can set up your plans. This is an all-in; everyone on the team will be present. I trust you'll keep these men tidy, Miss Fredrickson?"

I accept the folders from the man, holding onto them for dear life with a death grip near my chest. "Yes Ma'am, I will."

"Good. This will be a learning experience for us all as I trust that these men will show you how they complete their work and they'll be able to grasp how you function just the same."

"A-Administrator!" Miss Pauling comes running across the parking lot. "Good news, Miss Fredrick--"

"Is going to be participating as a mercenary in this contract. You are going as their supervisor," the Administrator interrupts. 

Miss Pauling looks at the stack of papers in my hand. "Oh, really? I'm going, too?"

"Yes, I'm sure you don't have a problem with this? I did mention the _entire_ team is going."

"N-no, Ma'am! Where are we heading?"

"A cruise, for California. One of the stops is going to be Costa Rica which is where your targets are heading. You'll have one chance to intercept them before the boat boards and as many opportunities as you see fit while on board if you don't eliminate them before then. I've already booked all of you as a courtesy as you know I won't be handling infiltration for you every time. I trust that every single one of them will be handled effectively before you touch land at your destination. Don't fail me."

The man closes his coat, walking away out of view into the dark of the desert. I turn to Miss Pauling, rubbing my thumb on the corner of one of the folders. The guys walk out of the diner, Vince presumably ringing them up and kicking them out. They join us, Scout pointing to the files in my arms. "Oh, I know that look. We got a job?"

"Yup," I confirm. "We all do."


	20. Twenty: Revving up and Gearing Up to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Heavy)
> 
> Heavy will learn much about Accomplice because she is sharing house with Heavy. This will help because Sniper asked for advice, and everyone knows advice from Heavy is valuable in many countries. I know she has family at home that she cares for like I do. She is doing best she can from what I heard from when she was on phone, so this means little lady really needs job.

"Well, this is different," I observe, looking to the slightly altered fort.

"Wait 'til you get inside," Engie says, parking into the open garage. 

Soldier takes off his seatbelt. "I am leaving the truck now."

"Soldier, you don't need to announce the fact that you're exiting a vehicle," Engie tries reasoning with him, but he exits with my suitcase as soon as Engie is done talking. We look to each other, sliding out of the driver's side. The garage, though now a tad but refurbished, still carries the rustic charm. Soldier grips my suitcase with both hands, refusing to use the wheels it comes with. Engie pulls down the garage door. "You wanna show Accomplice her--"

"Affirmative," Soldier responds. He bends over and gets close to my face. "Follow me to your quarters, son."

He runs off without checking to see if I'm following. I get moving, waving to Engie. "Hey, make sure you account for your suit."

"Yes, Ma'am!" He calls after me. 

A bread monster slides across the floor in front of me and Soldier, the beast screeching at us before running by. Scout slides by as well, winking at me. "Don't worry Accomplice, just a minor infestation."

He dashes off, Pyro following behind with his flamethrower in hand. It's going to take me a second to get used to my new name when I expect them to call me 'Miss Fredrickson.' It's unfitting and hard seeing that name being associated with myself. I'll manage it. We walk past where the barracks used to be, that area now looking like an armory of our own. The plaza remains the same, but Sniper's tower has also been reimagined. It has stairs now for added stability and ease of access, but it's still far away to oversee the land just the same. I see a new set of small buildings off where an empty patch of dirt used to be, and we start walking toward them. They look like small duplexes, and- upon entering my own- I find out that they are. Soldier sets my things down by the door.

Small, but cozy. It feels like a minimalist cabin with a closet, dresser, armchair, lamp, desk, nightstand, and a bed. I open a door next to my closet, revealing the bathroom. Heavy stands at the other door on the other end. I guess I found out who my roommate is. There's a jack-and-jill bathroom situation going on, separate sinks but shared toilet and tub. The doors have locks, which is a plus because I wouldn't want a part two to what I went through with Sniper the first morning I spent here. 

"Hi, Heavy," I greet, walking across the bathroom to Heavy's home when he beckons me over. 

"Welcome to our home. We share a house now. I apologize if Heavy is bad roommate." He stops moving things and grabs my face, planting a kiss on each of my cheeks.

"Oh, hi, I'm glad to see you, too."

"Is greeting between acquaintances."

"I see. But I'm sure you'll be fine," I assure. He looks to have already started moving things around to his personal preference. "Have you started packing, got your suit?"

"I have already finished, and yes, suit is with clothing." He points to his suitcase against the wall by the bathroom door. 

"Soldier, have you--" My front door closes, so I guess that might've Soldier leaving to go do what I told him to. There's a knock on Heavy's door. I walk over to it, turning the doorknob. Medic and Sniper stand on the other side. "Hey, guys."

"'Ello." Sniper tips his hat.

" _Guten Tag,_ " the doctor chimes. "Just wanted to check-in, see how you were doing."

"I'd say we're doing well," I put my hands on my hips with a smile.

Heavy pushes his desk into the back corner by the window. "You only just now arrived, there is no time to create opinion."

"Speaking of just arriving..." I point at the men in the doorway. "Are you packed?"

"Practically," Sniper answers. Medic chuckles.

"No."

"Then I'm helping you, c'mon."

"Ooh, eager, aren't we?" Medic inquires.

"As much as I don't like it here, I still have a job to do which is to coordinate all of you." Medic and Sniper both turn distraught. "It's already three, and I have to make sure we're on that plane by midnight."

Sniper leans in the door frame. "Sound a bit like me mum there, Luv."

"Let her do her work, Sniper. There are nine of us and only one of her. Come, I don't think I need the help but you're welcome to accompany me."

"Came here to talk to Heavy, so I'll stay," Sniper says. "Bye, Luv."

"You better be telling the truth about your luggage." I leave with Medic, holding the straps of my backpack as I walk next to him. He lives in the duplex across from us. Six of them in total, arranged in a sort of culdesac with a fire pit and park benches in the middle. "What's this here?"

"A campsite, for Pyro. Miss Pauling also thought it would be nice if we had a little area to sit and bond or something to that effect."

"Would we barbeque?" 

"I don't see why not."

I smile. "I'm forcing us to use it."

"You'd make Engineer a rather happy Texan then," he admits, opening the door to his home and letting me in first. "We're still moving in, so I think it might be a bit easier to move clothes from one box to another."

All of our living spaces look pretty much the same since we haven't had any time to customize things to make it our own. Archimedes Two flies off from his perch on the lamp to his owner's shoulder. Medic walks over to his desk. "Oh, Engineer told me to give this to you when you return. _Er sagte, es sei ein Geschenk,_ he said it was a gift."

He hands me the phone, and I chuckle. I've recently tried a different approach than carrying everything in my arms as Miss Pauling did. I have a backpack, so I might as well use it. A purse might be more practical and I might utilize one if absolutely needed, but the backpack stays for right now. Setting my bag down onto the armchair along with the phone, I clap my hand together and step up to Medic. He lifts a curious eyebrow at me. "What?"

He shrugs. "Nothing, you're just less professional this time."

"I mean, do you _prefer_ me more professional?" I question.

"I have yet to decide. I'll let you know what I think." He picks up a box and opens the flaps, looking at a weapon. "This is not what I'm looking for."

I spot his suitcase in the corner of his room. "You said you weren't packed."

"My suit isn't, I'm fine on normal attire. We have to blend in, so it's tropical stuff, yes?"

"You're not wrong, I'll give you that."

Engie walks in through their bathroom. I point at him. "Are your things good to go?"

"Yup, don't worry Accomplice. Stopped by to tell you that Demo arrived with Spy not too long ago, they're ready to leave when it's time. Scout and Pyro are set, and I just helped Soldier finish up. We've got a bit of free time."

"Are your weapons and tools also set?"

"Yes'm. Thought it a good idea to give the guys a mini-debriefing." Medic flips his hand in a way to tell me that he'll be okay on his own. I shove the phone into my backpack and set off with Engie. Pyro waves to us before he ducks into his house with his flamethrower, brown sludge splattered on his suit. The sun forces me to keep my head down. Engie walks unbothered as his goggles also double as sunglasses, blocking out the brightness of the orange light reflecting off of the dirt. "Might I just say that seeing you in purple again brings me a sense of comfort?"

"Does it?" I stare at my shoes as I walk.

"Yup. Can't explain why, but it suits ya very well. Far better than blue, that's for sure. Can I also ask what color your formal wear is?"

"Yellow, why?"

"Curious is all." He leads me back to the main building and into the relatively unchanged common room. The guys sit in the living room portion one of two couches. Scout takes up all of the space and lays on his back, reading a comic book with a bored look on his face. Spy and Demo sit on the other couch, Spy flipping his knife around and Demo sitting with his head hanging over the back of the couch- probably asleep. Soldier stands at attention in between the two long seats. 

"Good afternoon, men," I greet. Demo twitches and brings his head back down, blinking a few times and adjusting himself. Engie pulls over a chalkboard with pictures taped onto them, hands me one of the small white cylinders, and threatens to sit on Scout if he doesn't move his legs. "Any questions before I start?"

"Can you tell the beer keg to leave me alone?" Scout sasses, flipping the page of his book.

"You're like this every damn time... Difficult..." Engie grumbles under his breath and walks off to go get a chair from one of the kitchen tables.

"Three targets, triplets. Richard, Robbie, and Renard Peyton. They owe the Administrator three million dollars each, and she's not too happy about them running off to Costa Rica with her sum of money. We are obviously going to kill all three. We have a chance to snatch Robbie the same day we land at around noon or such as we've received intel that he plans to board a yacht with a couple of BLUs that have also crossed the Administrator."

I write down notes under the image of each brother. Heavy, Sniper, and Pyro all join us. Scout gives to allow more people to sit when Heavy also threatens to sit on him. "Now, although we don't have all of the info and we'd have to wait until we get there to see, Miss Pauling thinks that Sniper and Demo would be able to take Robbie out while he's aboard that yacht. Richard and Renard are going to be more tricky since we'll have to wait until we're aboard the ship to even _think_ about touching them."

"Medic, Sniper, and Spy are our best bet for that, right?" Scout asks.

"Spy, absolutely. Sniper, depends. Why Medic?"

"Ah, er-- I think he'd be more excited if he told you about it."

"Alrighty then... The triplets have a tough security detail to work around and might have undercover mercenaries of their own amongst the crew which is why we need all hands on deck."

"Eh-heh, good one." He points fingers guns at me, referring to the unintentional pun I made. "Hey, where's Miss Pauling?

"She'll meet us at the airport when it's time. I don't want to get into too much detail since I want to consult with her first," I set the chalk down and rub my fingers against the bottom of the board. "Take a load off for right now, guys. If you're all good to go, go ahead and take a nap or something since we'll be busy with all of the plane stuff."

"Miss Pauling usually handles that for us," Spy adds his input. 

"Well, she's not going to be doing a bulk of the work anymore. That's going to start falling on us effective immediately since I'm taking over her duties relating to this team. Don't get me wrong, she still has a crap-ton of work to take on, but this is off-loading about thirty percent of it in total. Questions, comments, concerns?"

"I need to go to the bathroom," Soldier states.

"Then... Go?" I rhetorically ask back, lifting an eyebrow. He does an about-face and walks off. "Anything else?" 

"Do I get to see you and Miss Pauling in some swimwear?" Scout chuckles.

"Nothing? Go ahead and complete whatever it is you need to complete."

"Dinnae need to tell me twice." Demo lays his head back again and is out like a light, snoring and all. Everyone else but Scout begins to leave, the Bostoner reopening his reading. Bostoner? I've recently seen a TV show where they call them Bostonians which... Makes so much more sense.

"Oi, Accomplice," Sniper flags me down. "Got a sec?" 

"Nothing but," I remark. "What do you need?"

"Not much, I just wanted to do a bit of a follow up about our talk back at the supermarket."

I shrug. "Don't worry too much about that, it happens all of the time. You learn to deal with it."

He puts his hands up. "No, not about that. I meant about something you and I talked about, after." I tap my palms against thighs as I brought up the other thing for no reason. Sniper digs into his satchel on his belt and starts to walk off. I follow. "About you not caring that I came after you like a bog gator at a boatful of tourists."

"Oh," I acknowledge. "I'm pretty sure I've gotten over it. Don't think about that too much, either."

He stops by the opening to the outside and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He offers- I decline- and takes out a lighter, puffing to get the smoke going. "You don't just 'get over' something like that, Luv. Maybe you're in a prolonged state of shock or something over everything you've had to process for the past month, but that's still wedged deep inside you somewhere."

"I think I'd know, Sniper, if I had an issue with you," I assert. He looks out into the field and blows a cloud.

"Not an issue with me but rather what I did." He watches Medic walk by with a syringe gun. "The doctor and I have it a bit different than me an' you, so don't go around using us as a reference for how you should act. I'm self-aware enough to know I look a spot feral from that angle... Depending on the context."

I look at him, slightly confused as to what direction he's taking this in. "Uhh--"

"Regardless, Sheila, I think it smart for us to talk about it sometime. Doesn't have to be today or tomorrow, but whenever you've got the time. It's about time we quit piss fartin' around."

"No offense," I start, "but I feel extremely uncomfortable around you. But not for the reasons you think."

He laughs low with stickiness in his undertones. "Don't blame ya. You've gotta get used to me, though, the same way that the rest of these blokes did. Shouldn't be too hard for you and me since we're the same age."

"That would make it _more_ difficult," I dispute. "And we're sounding to be very different people, Sniper."

"Doesn't mean much. Scout and I are best cobbers and look at us, next to nothing is the same between me and that drongo other than our age."

"I still have ears, you discount Brit," Scout says from the couch, sitting up to look over the back of it at us. "But he's right, we're friends enough to live together."

"Oh, you're sharing a duplex?" I ask. Sniper nods and takes another drag from his cigarette. Medic comes to me and beckons me to follow him. "I'll, talk to you later."

I follow Medic to the armory with Engie inside who hands me a phone connected to the wall. "Someone on the line for you."

"There are only three people who know to call this number," I slowly raise it to my ear. "Fredrickson."

"Miss Mona Fredrickson, Salvador Fredrickson's guardian?" A woman's voice speaks from the other line. 

"Oh, uhm, yes," I blink a few times. I block the receiver. "Uh, this might take a minute." 

"Miss Fredrickson?" The woman asks again.

Engie and Medic leave. "Yes, yes, that's me."

"This is Samantha Tatum, your child's dorm master," she starts. "This call is to inform you that your child was caught off-campus last night."

I stare at the ground, bug-eyed. "He... He what?" 

"It was as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. I am sure that you already know that this behavior is not to be tolerated in this school, _especially_ as a part of our integration program as this would reflect badly on both your child and this institution's values."

"No, no, I know, Ma'am," I sigh, gripping the phone. "May I speak to him?"

"Yes, please hold one moment."

My foot taps in anxiety and my thumbnail is clamped in between my teeth. I stand as close to the wall as possible as face the corner of the room to keep the conversation private. The woman mutters, but she's not close enough to be heard clearly. My brother gets on the phone. "Hi, Momo."

"Salvador Dali Fredrickson, what is this?" I hiss. "Sneaking out?"

"I wasn't actually doing it, I was--"

"What do you mean you weren't actually doing it? You're sixteen, what could you possibly be doing off-campus?"

"Mona, I was _in the area,_ you know how it is," he says. "And Leo said you used to sneak out all of the time when _you_ were sixteen."

My lips press together. "You promise you weren't involved?"

"Yes, I promise. It was a couple of other guys, and I know you keep telling me to mind my own business--"

"Because that's what we do, Salvi, we mind our own business," I sigh. "Things like this happen when we don't mind our own business. I know you're just trying to do the right thing, bud, but you have to keep your head down there. We got lucky that you were accepted into the lottery."

"I know, I know, you and Leo never let me forget it."

"Wait, why _are_ you talking to me instead of Leo?" I inquire.

His audio crackles. "He didn't pick up the first time, so they called you right after since they kinda want me out of here."

"And they didn't call Sandro this time?" I chuckle, twisting my face slightly. "They never call Sandro, who am I kidding? At least I get to talk to you."

"When's the next time you'll be visiting, sis?"

My calendar is so backed up right now, I don't know even know when we'll get back from the cruise. I think that'd be in eight or so days, marking the end of September. "We're looking at Thanksgiving. I know that's a bit of a way off, but it's the best I can do considering that I don't get much time off with Vince and Parma, not to mention Leo..."

"Yeah," he trails off. He breathes into the receiver. "Classes resume in a few, I have to go back to Disciplinary Hall."

My brows bend. "Right, okay. Remember Salvi, mind your own--"

"Mind my own business, I know. Bye, Momo, love you."

"Love you, Salvi," I say, waiting for the dorm master lady to get back on the line. She says my name to check if I'm still there. "So, what's the deal with Salvador?"

"He's attending Disciplinary Hall for the rest of the week to substitute for a mark on his academic record. I trust your son won't act in this manner again?"

"He's my brother, and don't worry about him, this will be his only offense. He's a quiet kid, it's just a misunderstanding."

She stays silent for a moment or two as if she doubts me. "Have a nice day, Miss Fredrickson."

She hangs up on me, and I disconnect the call, staring down at the phone. I haven't told any of the boys about this job. It's going to stay that way for as long as I can help it. I sigh, turning around and jumping at the sight of Heavy meekly towering over me. "Heavy, _why_ are you standing there like that?"

"Heavy came to ask you if you want to play poker, but you were on call and... Yes. You wish to play poker?" He rubs the back of his neck with one hand while showing me the deck of cards with the other. 

"Oh, uh, I don't know how to play. I can just sit and watch, I have to organize files a bit, anyway."

Heavy stands in place for a moment or two. "What was phone call about?"

"Nothing too important, just checking up on my brother," I dismiss as we leave the armory and walk over to the kitchen.

"I know feeling of missing family. I have three sisters and mother to take care of, Heavy is man of the house," he smiles gently as he mentions them. "They all live in Russia still, in snowy mountains. Too far to visit normally, and they cannot make phone calls whenever, so we write letters."

"Thanks for reminding me, Commie," Soldier buzzes into our conversation, holding up a postcard and stopping us in the hallway. Heavy takes it from him. "You already know who this is for."

Heavy groans. "I still do not understand what Zhanna sees in you, she cannot even read English postcard."

"Pure American citizenship, that's what. Oorah," Soldier salutes and leaves just as abruptly as he came.

I am: Floored. Heavy stands, holding the thin paper in between his thick fingers, a shadow cast over his eyes with a stoic look as he watches Soldier go. I grab his hand and start to drag him over to the kitchen. Engie, Scout, Spy, and Pyro all sit at one of the tables, poker chips in the middle. I sit him down and introduce another chair from a different table. 

"What happened to Heavy?" Spy asks, lighting himself a cigarette. "He looks more miserable than usual."

"Soldier was a bit mean to him," I answer, taking the cards from him and setting them down near the chips.

"As he should," Scout rebounds. "Today is totally not his lucky day, I'm going to clean him out."

"Assumin' you can count that high," Engie mutters grinning. 

I smirk and open my backpack to take out folders. "Are you guys always this childish?"

"Exclusively," Spy says. "Some more so than others."

"He's talking about me, I'm the some," Scout admits, Pyro raises his hand to add himself to that category.

Engie leans over the table to reach for the cards. "I'm the others he'd be referring to." He shuffles. "Rarely, though, to clarify."

Spy rolls his eyes. "Just hand me my cards, _Ingénieur_."


	21. Twenty-One: I Fucking Hate Florida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Scout) 
> 
> I said it once, and I'mma say it again: I fucking HATE Florida. Just last time we came here in '66, there was a huge ass hurricane that got us stuck on the freeway for evacuation for ten fucking hours, and they named it Alma of all things. Who names a giant ass storm that kills people "Alma?" Y'know, how do they even name those things? Do the science guys just think of someone they really hate and go "Oh, yeah, let's name this angry water tornado after that sunova bitch." Or maybe it was someone who hurt them? Hurt the state of Florida? If that's the case, we're gonna have a fucking "Hurricane Jeremy" in a hot minute if these weirdos don't stop following us wherever we go.

"That's why I told you to wear something comfortable," Miss Pauling sings under her breath, sitting on her suitcase as we wait for our luggage on the carousel.

Spy moves his leg in small, erratic bursts to get it to wake up. He stands near the conveyor belt with his jacket draped over his arm and ski mask in hand, dressed in a suit as opposed to everyone else wearing more loose-fitting clothing that's appropriate for the weather... Save Pyro. I still can't believe they let him on the plane in his suit, much less past security. Then again, Miss Pauling flashed her TF Industries ID, and all of our more than questionable items went through unquestioned.

I had to switch to a purse, and I'm somewhat okay with that. It fits the 'tourist group on vacation' look we're going for as a collective, what with Miss Pauling and I wearing sundresses and sandals and a lot of the guys wearing Hawaiian or polo styled shirts with one pattern or another. Miss Pauling and I made the call of going by our real names to blend in aboard the ship, and we're going to try and enforce it whenever we're in public in case of wandering ears since apparently normal passerby know about classed mercenaries wherever they have a strong presence. It's especially bad here in Fort Lauderdale since one of the tourist attractions here is a museum of the many ways mercenaries have been hunted and killed here. Many of the team have already expressed that I don't need to be so formal with them, Engie being one of the more adamant ones about it, but Miss Pauling insisted that the team continue calling me "Miss Fredrickson."

"Cars are outside, Eng- ow!" Scout- clad in jeans and a hoodie- and Pyro approach us, Pyro elbowing Scout. "Dell and Mick are driving."

"You go ahead and get one of the cars to the hotel, Fredrickson, we'll be behind you guys," Miss Pauling shoos me away.

I pull my suitcase behind me. Pyro leads me through the checkpoint and to the elevator, bringing us down to the garage level. The guys stand around with their bags, not in the cars. "Why are we not loaded up?"

"The inability to make choices," Engie says, tipping his cowboy hat as he leans against the side of the SUV in jeans, a red flannel, and cowboy boots.

"Okay then. Uh, with me and Dell, we're going to have: Mr. DeGro--"

"Tavish, lass," Demo corrects.

"Right, sorry. Tavish, Dr. Humboldt, Pyro... and Jeremy." I look around. "Where's Jeremy?"

"Lad's probably goin' to try and stay with Miss Pauling," Demo says, picking up his duffel bag and suitcase in his sandals, orange polo shirt and cargo shorts.

"Has always had a weird obsession with her, rather creepy." Medic pops the trunk and handles organizing our gear, wearing a white shirt under his open red cross cover, also in cargo shorts and sandals. 

"Which is why I reiterate why they won't get together," Engie puts. He opens the passenger door and flicks his hand, letting me know he wants me in the car.

"You should take off your goggles Dell, you're going to scare children," I suggest.

"Had a young'un tell me I look like a cyborg once and he said he liked cyborgs to be completely truthful, so I don't think I will," he mentions. "Now get in the car."

"I think he called you a cyborg for another reason, but the goggles only added to his imagination." Medic points to his own hand, and I look down at Engie's. He also looks down at his yellow and grey glove, closing his fingers into a fist. "Engineer, please do tell me you brought your... You know..."

"What is he talking about?" I ask, climbing in.

"My guitar case, which I did," Engie states with a tone that suggests he's keeping a secret. "And that's Dell to you, mister."

"Yes, Sir Conagher, I'm ever so sorry," Medic says while twisting his accent to become poshly British, moving his hand in a circle before bowing to him.

"Hell," Engie sighs, closing the door for me. He walks to the other side of the car and grunts as he lands in the driver's seat, pulling on his seatbelt. He's reluctant to at first, but he adjusts the seat's positioning and the tilt of the mirrors. He reaches for the radio and speaks to me while trying to find something suitable to listen to. "Where to?"

I dig through my purse and take out a napkin I scribbled on during the flight. "It is... on the corner of Fifth and Trobally. I also have a map that I picked up."

"Let me take a gander at that please, Ma'am." He reaches over with his other arm and takes the folded pamphlet from me, finding a station playing country music. Scout opens the backdoor and sits behind me, popping his head in between Engie and I. His hand comes forward, reaching for the radio dial, but Engie turns to him and puts up a finger, almost as though he was daring him to change the music. "Sit the hell down, boy."

"Music fuckin' stinks," Scout argues.

"I'm sorry, are you driving?"

"Can we not do this? I know we're all stressed right now, but I don't think we need to aggravate each other," I dispute, turning off the stereo altogether. "Sit down, Jeremy."

"Un-fucking-believable," he groans, sitting back. Demo knocks on my window, and I roll it down.

"Lass, we're not going to fit side-by-side, not with Jeremy sitting up front," he informs.

I turn to Scout. "Jeremy, could you- perhaps- maybe sit in the third row?" I ask. Medic closes the trunk and opens the back door on Engie's side, peering at the skinnier boy. Scout lids his eyes at me, and I smile. "Please?"

"Un- _fuckin'_ -believable, I fucking hate Florida. It's every time we come here," he breathes, throwing himself into the back and flailing around to get his lanky body upright in the seat. I roll my window back up. Pyro joins him in the back as Medic, and Demo sit on opposite ends of the second row. Medic lays his head against the window, eyes closed.

"Aw, Doctor, it's only about four in the morning, at least wait until we get to our rooms," I hum, taking the map back from Engie. 

"Wake me when we get there," he drones.

"Did you not take a nap before we left?"

"Miss Fredrickson, the last time I slept was the night before the one we came to get you at your workplace."

I squint. "What were you doing all of that time?"

He's quiet for a moment. "You'll see."

Engie flips the radio back on and starts the car, moving the stick into drive and taking us out of the garage. He gets onto the highway. "Once we get off the turnpike, be my guide now, wontcha, Ma'am?"

"Yes, Sir," I comply with a light hum, looking at the map and trying to follow our location with each street lamp that passes. The glass fogs up and Engie turns off the AC to balance out the temperature difference of the warm Florida climate and the cooler interior of the car. We're one of the only cars on the freeway, possibly being the deciding factor to Engie that he's allowed to go twenty over the speed limit. "We're going to get pulled over."

He loosens up on the gas. "Well, now that you jinxed us..."

I shrug and lean back into my seat. Engie taps his thumbs on the wheel as he mouths the words to the song, glancing at his mirrors before using his turn signal to move over to the highway exit. I pull out the map and find where we are as we stop at an intersection. "Keep going forward on Dale."

The light turns green, and we start to move. Engie turns his head a couple of times to look at me, and I look back at him, a tad confused. We stare at each other for a few seconds until he turns back to the road. "What?"

I eye him. "You were the one looking at me." He doesn't respond. I look at the map. "Turn onto Maven."

He tugs on the steering wheel. I hear Scout and Demo whispering to each other, and Demo calls on both me and Engie. "Hard to patch it, but we've got a tailer."

"I know," Engie admits. "Let's just get to where we need to go, though. No need to be spooked, we're just doing a mighty fine bit of visitin' as a group of tourists to the fine state of Florida... Nothing out of the ordinary here, folks. Don't look at them, Jeremy."

Engie mutters in a low voice, turning into the parking lot of the hotel once he spots it. I dig through my purse. "Should I call Miss Pauling?"

"Prefferin' you dae," Demo says. "Warn 'em and tell 'em that there's the possibility that they've got ane, too."

I dial Miss Pauling and put the phone up to my ear, catching a glimpse of our shadow in the side mirror. The line rings twice before it clicks. "Hey, we've got someone following us."

"You do... Where are you guys now?"

"We're trying to find a space in the garage." I keep watch in the mirror as the car slowly closes the gap between us. "We're just going to go in and get to our rooms as fast as possible."

"Sounds good. The triplets might have some moles within TF Industries, but we never attach the team that's being given the job, so you'll just have to act naturally to erase suspicion, got it?"

"Mm-hmm," I confirm and fold up the map in my lap. "Got any tips on how to do that?"

" _Shit,_ " she whispers.

"What?" I perk up.

"I forgot Pyro was with you guys. Yeah, no, you'll have to run."

Engie turns his head to me. "Problem?"

"You guys do cardio often?" I ask rhetorically. "Pyro, wake up Medic."

Miss Pauling starts to instruct me. "Check-in, get the room keys and then lock the doors. Try and lose them in the staircase before attempting to use an elevator, okay?"

"Gotcha," I mutter. "See you when I see you."

I pick up my bag and ready my purse so I can hop out of the car when we stop. Engie pulls up to the garage entrance and drives in, looking for a place to park. I glance at the backseat, Medic slouching in his chair as he rubs his face to wake up enough for our rush. We pull into the first spot we see, Engie immediately turning off the car and watching the other go by in the rearview mirror. We sit for a moment, never seeing the vehicle circle back. We all open our doors and hurry ourselves along to get everything out of the back, Scout stumbling out onto the pavement when Medic opens the trunk. I help him up, accepting my things and aiding in unloading. Engie locks the car, and we walk with haste to the entrance of the garage, forming a jagged line on the sidewalk to make it to the front entrance. It's humid and warm, the sun has yet to make her appearance. My skin feels cool in the change of temperature, causing me to shiver from the disruption in equilibrium. 

The front doors slide open when it senses our movement. The lobby is cold and empty, and I feel goosebumps form on my arms. I walk up to the front desk. "Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, Ma'am, do you have a reservation?" The receptionist asks in a deep voice. 

"Yes, I do, it should be under TF Industries."

He taps away at his terminal. "Six rooms?"

"Yes," I confirm, checking on the guys behind me. The car pulls up to the front curb.

"Okay, Ma'am, here are your keys, your rooms are three-thirty through three-thirty-five. Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," I pant, snatching the keys from the desk and beckoning the guys as I see a group of people coming into the building. They ignore the receptionist when he tries to call out to them, their footsteps following close behind ours. We briskly walk, but not fast enough to make it seem like we're running away from them. I lead the guys to the stairway, lifting my suitcase up into my arms and cautiously running up the steps, going up to the second level, and entering there. I gently close the door before we run to the other end of the tacky puke-green hall and call the lift, standing around anxiously while the elevator's light ding when they come on. The doors finally open and we squeeze ourselves inside, finally rising to the third floor. My breath thins, my calves cramp, and I catch them popping out of the stairwell at the other end of the hall, and I round the corner and walk off as if these people aren't majorly threatening me by just existing. They eventually catch up to us, grabbing onto Pyro who is very much so not a fan of being touched and deals with it by smacking them away.

Two men and a woman stand before us, the men looking to be twins. One of the men is the leader. "Your taillight was out, just wanted to let you guys know."

That's a load of bullshit, and we know it. Medic takes over. "Was it? Thank you for letting us know."

"No problem, you guys have a good one," he says, glaring at us before turning around and walking with his companions to the elevator. I wait for them to go inside before finishing our trek to our rooms. Staying in one room for right now is a good idea until our other half joins us. 

Medic flops onto one of the two full mattresses face first, kicking off his shoes and sighing into the pillow. Pyro takes the bathroom and locks the door behind him, Scout groaning as he had to use it as well. Engie goes out onto the balcony with Demo, surveying outside for our field of vision and how this could benefit us later. I sit on the edge closest to Medic, pulling out my phone and calling Miss Pauling again. She picks up immediately. "I have no clue what just happened, and I'm unsure if we've been found out."

"I doubt it."

"There were three of them, two males and one female; they told us our taillight was out and then left as if they didn't follow us up to the third floor," I elaborate and take off my own shoes. 

"You're in your rooms?"

"No, we're all in one together right now, waiting on you guys."

She says something away from the receiver, yelling before coming back to me. "That might take a while. Got a flat, and we're waiting for the dealer to come to fix it."

"How long?"

"Thirty minutes, an hour max. We'll be a bit behind schedule, but we will be there before we have to get to the beach for the yacht, I promise," Miss Pauling sounds virtually unaffected by this new development. "If worse comes to worst, we can rendezvous at the dock. Get your rest while you still can; stay together. I would suggest not leaving alone if you're getting breakfast or ice or something. Ope, gotta go, there's an issue that popped up."

"Bye." I hang up and look behind me at Medic, lying on his side with his arm under the pillow. He swats me away when I try to take his glasses off of his face.

" _Wir müssen frühstücken gehen,_ " he hoarsely says.

"What was that, hun?" I ask, somewhat preoccupied with reorganizing my things.

" _Frühstück. Wir bekommen Frühstück für unsere Freunde,_ " he rambles, rolling onto his back and lifting his glasses to rub his eyelids. He yawns and stares at me with exhausted eyes. "I require sustenance, Miss Fredrickson."

I laugh at his lack of subtlety. "Okay, c'mon, let's go see if they have anything in the lobby."

"I'll go with y'all," Engie offers. 

"Nae, Chief," Demo stops him. "I will. Getting a bit stir crazy with just sittin' around."

"Dr. Humboldt, Tavish, and I, c'mon. Dell, give me your keys in case we need to drive somewhere for food."

"What are you guys gonna get?" Scout lays down next to Medic who promptly rises and slips his sandals back on.

"More than likely breakfast tacos or granola bars or something that's easy to carry in bulk. There's eleven of us, multiply that by two and you get twen--"

"Twenty-one," Scout interjects. I glance at him. 

"Bloody hell, lad," Demo laughs. " _Twenty-ane._ "

I look at him apologetically. "No, that'd be twenty-two. I see where you made your mistake, though."

Engie clears his throat and coughs. " _Dumbass._ "

"Fuck you, snakeskin," Scout growls.

"Okay, jeez, calm down! You guys weren't like this when we were with Vanguard," I bring up.

"Vanguard was a bit different in the environment and situation. Scout also hasn't had his nap, so I don't blame him. Let's just go get breakfast," Medic sighs and hits my back with his hand a couple of times to get me to stand up so he can, too.

"Just because I have a gun named Baby Face--"

"Hmm, it looks like we're leaving now." Demo takes the car keys from Engie, and the three of us stand by the door. I'm the last one out with the room key in hand. "Be nice, don't kill each other, lock the door... Get some rest."

Demo and Medic are already halfway to the elevator, and I run to catch up with them. The doors slide open, and we step inside, descend to the ground level, and step back out. Now that we have the time, I don't see anything more to this lobby than the front desk and a small sitting area off to the side. The room has teal accents on a white theme. I step up to the desk. "Is something the matter, Ma'am?"

"Uh, no no, we're great. I was just wondering if there are any places that sell breakfast around here, preferably to-go?" I take the map out of my purse and hand it to the receptionist.

"Ah, well-" he takes a pen from his desk, "you're right here right now. The closest place that I can think of that's actually good and does to-go is over there on Main. You'd start off by taking a right on Seventh when you leave the garage and then the rest should be pretty simple."

"I see. Thank you, sir," I chime.

"No problem."

I herd the two out to the garage, assuming my spot in the driver's seat. Demo sits next to me and Medic takes the backseat, laying down on his back. I look at him when I adjust my mirrors. "You okay there, Doctor?"

"I'm not driving, so I sleep. _Dies ist die unausgesprochene Regel, auf die wir uns geeinigt haben,_ " he whispers.

"You're a Chatty Cathy today, too bad I can't understand you."

Demo takes control of the radio as I back out the parking spot. "He's always chatty. Dinnae worry 'bout me minnie and but."

"But what?" I ask.

He faces me head on to see with his one eye. "Scot's tongue, just ends a sentence."

"Oh." I reach over and take the map out of my purse to hand to him. "Getting used to how some of you speak is gonna take some time, but I'll try my hardest."

"'Preciate the effort." He glances in his side mirror. "Bampots biting our breeks again."

I look up in my rearview, spotting the sedan waiting to turn onto the street from the hotel. "We are but just normal tourists, Tavish, honey, on our way to go get some nutrition for our fellow tourists. Nothing to see here."

"What dae ye think their problem be?"

"Dunno," I mumble, imitating a Scottish accent of my own as I slow at a stoplight. The car stops short behind us, the headlights shining too brightly to see who's driving. The light turns green, and I press the gas, flicking my blinker on and taking a turn per Demo's directions. The roads remain desolate and dark, but it's certain that other people will begin to occupy the empty space soon. I make light talk to avoid becoming hasty. "Turn of the decade means there's going to be a turn in tunes. We had the age of rock, what do you think it'll be now?"

"Funk has recently started poppin' up, that maybe will turn intae disco."

"Disco... Disco sounds fun, I guess we'll have to see. What's your favorite genre?"

"Keep straight," Demo says. "Dinnae ken, I listen tae jazz the most, occasionally Opera."

"Opera?" I smile. "I wouldn't have guessed that. I listen to some jazz, get some R&B going..."

"Soul."

" _Yes,_ " I chuckle, glancing over at him. "Used to be _a lot_ of soul and gospel at my house. We never went to church, so if I heard it on the record player when I woke up on a Sunday morning, we were going to be cleaning all day. My mother said the Lord's house is your house, so you have to keep it tidy for Him to bless you."

Demo snickers at the idea and I do, too. It's ridiculous to think that my parents raised us like that. The church was right around the corner, not even a ten-minute walk. My friends would invite me to go so we could all audition for the choir together, but my dad was the one who wouldn't let us go. All of my neighbors and teachers looked upon it disapprovingly as we all attended the same one, my whole school did. We only ever went when my grandparents were visiting, and I could feel the animosity between my parents and everyone else in the building. Packed together in a hot room on a warm Sunday morning, the high-energy songs of the choir working up a sweat in the house of the Holy Spirit that would occasionally find their way into the body of a strong believer. I had always hoped the Holy Spirit would choose me so we could continue to go to church every week, giving my parents a reason to integrate into the community. I never found out why we didn't go.

"Stay straight," Demo instructs as we pass another intersection. 

"My parents dragged me to two different churches, one of which having to be held in secret in someone's basement. I hated going to the real church building, but I was forced to go whether I liked it or not," Medic begins as he sits up and slides on his seatbelt. "Think yourself lucky."

"Depends on your belief system, what's yours?" I meet his gaze in the rearview mirror.

"Roman Catholic," he yawns. "It's a bit complicated in explaining why that is, though."

I glance at Demo, and he lids his eye as he turns to face Medic in the back, eyebrows furrowed. I take a deep breath and change lanes, testing to see if the car would follow. They do. I see the building on the right of me, so I move over one more lane and rotate the wheel, tapping the gas to make it into the lot. The car turns in with us and parks in the back while we park up front. I sigh, turning off the car as we sit in the dark. 

"We are but simple tourists," I murmur to myself. I hear a forestock pump, and I snap my attention to the backseat. Medic sits with a shotgun in his hands. "Where the hell did you get that? Put that- Put that down."

"Aye, doc," Demo agrees with me. Medic squints at us. He gives easily and turns on the safety, sliding it back under the seat.

"We usually deal with obstacles rather quickly," he sighs and pulls the opening to his shirt down, "so I was merely acting with that still in mind."

"It's Jeremy who daes that, though, dinnae be a Jeremy."

"Oh, that cur, you're absolutely right, Tavish."

I flip my hair over my shoulder and pick up my purse. "Remember, men, that we are your average civilians just visiting the lovely city of Fort Lauderdale." I slide out of the car and lock it, Demo holding open the entryway for us. We step in, cold air hitting my exposed skin. It's an every man's diner like the one I worked at, serving a little bit of everything. A family sits in the dining room together, whispering quietly to each other and stopping when they see the three of us walk in. I meet the eyes of the father before walking up to the front counter. 

"Good morning, Ma'am, what can I get for you?" The lady at the register asks. 

"Hi, uhm, I know this is a lot, but can you do twenty-two breakfast tacos? An assortment is fine, it doesn't matter."

She cracks a smirk. "You think twenty-two is a lot? I used to live in South Texas, those people _inhaled_ breakfast tacos. Will that be all?"

"Yes," I confirm.

"Thirty flat," she says. I dig through my purse and bring out my wallet, handing her a ten and a twenty. "Thank you. It'll take a while, so please sit tight."

I back up and stand in between Medic and Demo, rubbing my arm and feeling the tiny bumps all up my skin. Medic walks off and goes to use the men's room. Our pursuers appear in the doorway, and I refrain from paying them too much mind. I turn to Demo, reaching out and adjusting his collar to get him to look behind me. He eyes them as they walk to the front counter and order for themselves. He glances at the family behind us and wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me in close enough until our sides are touching. The father walks by us and grabs napkins, watching us as he passes by again. I exhale anxiety. Medic returns from his short leave and lifts an eyebrow at the attitude Demo and I have, taking a second to scan the room and notice the multiple paints that were used to illustrate this image.

The German sniffs and stares at the group that's been hounding us, his face stone and his eyes lasers. The waitress brings our large bag of food to the counter, Medic going up to get it and making direct eye-contact with the man he talked to before. Demo and I leave and sit in our seats in the car, Medic slamming the door behind him. I sigh and start the car again. "I fucking hate Florida."

"Is this not your first time here?" Medic asks as he digs around for his own food.

"Yes, and I already hate it here, I'm ready to go back to New Mexico."


	22. Twenty-Two: Yo-Hoh and a Bottle of Brandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Sniper)
> 
> The only bad thing about shooting a rifle at sea, mate, is that sound travels bloody well on it. Hopefully, I won't be needed to fish Accomplice and the wankers out of anything and that they can get this done themselves. Seeing that Accomplice doesn't have many options as to where she can hide a weapon on her person rather than in her bag, I'd a cunt if I didn't keep an extra eye on her... And not for the reason you think, you bloody drongo. I was tellin' the truth, though. It'd be over for Scout and his scars if I took off me own shirt.

"Whoa-hoh-hoh, ain't this a treat?" Scout compliments both me and Miss Pauling as we hop onto the back deck and over the barrier of the trawler while he and Sniper untie the rope from the dock. "Looking _fine,_ you two. Y'know, Miss Pauling, wearing a one-piece really _accentuates_ your hips."

Miss Pauling pushes up her glasses and takes out her wetsuit jacket from her bag. "Okay, Jeremy."

"Thanks, but I'm not interested," I apologize and pat him on his bare shoulder. 

"Not interested? C'mon, I even got scars, and the ladies love the scars." Scout begins to flex, and I stare blankly at his bare chest and lanky arms. His dog tags clink together as he moves. "How could you _not_ be interested?"

"When you have the doctor and Tavish o'er there looking like that? I'd give it up mate." Sniper takes his sunglass off of his shirt and slides them on his face, lugging around his case for his rifle. "But, if I took off me own shirt, it'd be over for you and your scars."

"Then do it, Mick," Scout challenges.

"I'm keeping myself from embarrassing you any more than you already have."

"I also have scars, Jeremy, three," I point to two of them on my stomach. "I don't see any ladies."

Sniper pokes Scout's chest on his gunshot scar, he and Miss Pauling going into the small lower level room. Scout puts his hands on my shoulders from behind me. "You, uh, you really do look great in that bikini though, Accomplice... Purple suits you."

"Y'all ready?" Engie calls from the upper level. 

"Yeah, let's get this show on the water," Scout calls back.

The boat jolts and I stumble into Scout. Engie yells again. "Sorry 'bout that!"

"I should... I should go up there," I suggest.

"Better if you stay down here, this is where the gun show is at, baby," Scout teases, turning his hat backward. I roll my eyes and brush his arms off, heading toward the deck. "Alright, fine. Don't say I didn't warn ya when I tell you it's just a bunch of old guys up there!"

"Reminder that I'm older than you, Jeremy!" I say as I put on my backpack and latch onto a ladder. He stutters a bit before going out onto the deck. I climb up onto the upper level. "Sorry for almost being late, had to go back to the hotel, change, lose our tail, check-in with the pier owner and--" I take off my backpack to take out the remaining breakfast tacos, glancing up at Spy, Heavy, Demo, and Engie all staring. "Something wrong?"

They snap their eyes elsewhere and all give their own variant of "nothing." I smirk at their inability to be discreet. Spy is still somehow wearing a suit in this heat, it's well over ninety Fahrenheit. He sits with a magazine in hand and cigarette in between his lips next to Demo who's got on green plaid swimming trunks, water shoes, and letting his natural hair out of his beanie for one. He's got somewhat of a box-cut, but it's overgrown just a bit. He looks good in it. We make eye contact for a split second before he goes back to reloading his grenade launcher in his lap. Engie looks to be showing Heavy how to skipper the boat. I know for a fact that you say skipper instead of drive or pilot because there was a very heated conversation in the pier office between a mother and son that was settled with a peek into a fisherman's glossary. The Texan remains unmoved about his stance on wearing his glove and goggles, the cowboy hat taking place of his hardhat. He stands in black swimming trunks and a white button-up shirt with blue palm trees painted on, Heavy pictured with only black swimming trunks and both wearing flip-flops. 

I hand two tacos to Spy and hold out two for Heavy, Engie taking control of the boat, to let him eat. I stand next to Engie and tap his arm. "Where we heading?"

"There," he states, pointing a finger at a ship on the horizon. "It'll take a bit, but we've got the fuel for a round trip. The pier owner is RED affiliated, so he did us the favor of sayin' we were a maintenance team and that we'll need to board their craft to check some things out since the yacht is a rickety rent that he wants to get rid of anyway. A bit of a party going on, so we should go undetected. We'll set the damn thing to have an "engine fault" and up she goes. We're already halfway back to dry land when it happens and none the wiser, yes they are."

I look onto the deck, Pyro and Soldier looking over the crown and bow to look for what I can only assume is sea life. Soldier, fittingly, has on a speedo that has the American flag on it; he holds onto his helmet as he leans. "Where's Medic?"

"Sleeping," Spy answers as he flips the page.

"Good, I don't understand why he'd stay up for so long," I say, moving hair behind my ears.

"I'll go check on him," Engie says. "She's all yours, Heavy."

Heavy takes hold of the wheel after finishing up his taco. I lean my back against the doorway, watching the beach become less vivid and shrink behind us. Scout pops his head over the ladder. "What's up, geezers?"

Demo sets his gun down. "Engie tells ye to stay out of places for a reason."

"I'm technically not _in_ the wheelhouse. I just came up here to ask you to say the funny words, Pirate Mann, two N's on 'man' for the record."

Demo crosses his arms and declines. "Nae."

"Aw, just once, Pirate Mann, just for me?"

"Fir wye would I dae anything fir you?" Demo reaches under his seat and takes out a bottle of scrumpy.

Scout widens his eyes and scours his brain for a good reason. "Because we're friends."

Demo groans and sits up after taking a swig. "Swab the poop deck or else I'll make ye walk the plank, ye Scallywag," he aggressively says in a thicker Scottish accent to make Scout go away. I snort and hide my smile behind my hand as a few giggles escape me. Scout eggs him on a bit more. "Argh, matey."

"I like your funny words, Pirate Mann. That's all, thanks Pirate Mann," Scout thanks him as he's satisfied that he got a rise out of me and disappears over the edge of the balcony.

"That may have been the first time we have heard you laugh," Spy notes, turning the page to his magazine.

"It's cute, lass," Demo adds.

I scoff with a smirk and breathe deeply to get rid of the last bit of laughter I have, stepping out on the ledge on the other side of the small wheelhouse. The wind rages and blows some of my curls into my face. Sunlight shaves and decorates the waves with the speckles that have fallen off, and seagulls fly along the edge of the water and screech at the mere idea of perhaps catching sight of their next snack, pelicans often times beating them to the punch. Pyro and Soldier have come further away from the bow, and I can hear some of Soldier giving Pyro a history lesson about the Navy. Pyro points off near the beach, and I follow his finger, catching sight of a whale surfacing for a slight moment before diving back underwater.

The contrast between this contract and what happened over a month at Vanguard is staggering, to say the least. Sandy beaches and the open sea is a massive upgrade to fire torn bases and the sight of wounded men holed up in stairwells. My smile slowly fades and my fingers inch along my stomach to graze my scars. 

"We match," Heavy says. I turn around to see his finger pointing his stomach, three lighter marks grouped together. 

"That we do."

"Accomplice, get down here!" Soldier yells to be heard over the motor. I step to the railing. "Demo, you too!" I use the narrow stairway this time rather than the ladder to get down to the deck, walking around the side to get to Pyro and Soldier, Demo walking up after me. Soldier points to the water immediately below us, and I turn my gaze downward to look. "You know what's right under us, sailors?"

"Water and sea life," I answer literally.

"Negatory, private. The remains of one the first submarines to ever be tested by our great military. Sunk right around here in the year nineteen-ten. It was a top-secret test that failed while we were gearing up for the Great War. They don't talk about it too often, but it's still a great piece of history that shan't be forgotten while I'm around, no sir," Soldier rants, staring longingly at the water as if wishing he could swim down and see it himself. "Demo, did you know that it sunk because one of its warheads exploded during a trial to use torpedos?"

"Nae, really?" He inquires, intrigued. Soldier turns around to face us and discuss the topic with Demo. Holy shit, Soldier's fucking jacked. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but he definitely has put his hours into the gym. My eyes wander over to Demo for reference, and I ogle him unintentionally at the fact he also has abs. The guys would obviously need to be physically fit for the job, but this is a bit of a surprise, especially considering how Demo's arms aren't that built up. They aren't tightened to hell and back, but they're rather defined for the fact that's forty-nine years old, his chest also being unexpectedly bare.

"Accomplice, are you undressing Demoman with your eyes?" Soldier questions my actions and stops their conversation about the submarine because of it.

"Aha, I--" I stutter, wry, and take a couple of steps to the side. "N-No, I was--"

"You're just like Miss Pauling," he accuses. "She gets jealous of Zhanna sometimes because she didn't snatch this while it was still on the market."

"No, I don't! You're telling lies!" Miss Pauling yells from the lower-level room with frustration laced in her tone. "You just happen to get naked while I'm around, _a lot!_ "

"It's okay to admit your feelings, Miss Pauling, even if I don't return them," Soldier volleys. She stammers in anger before letting it go.

"Were ye, hen?" Demo asks with a smug smile about him with a raised eyebrow. He turns to me, his fists on his hips as he puffs out his chest. "Because if you're interested...?"

"Er," I sigh, trying my best to maintain eye contact with him, "I'll pass."

"Oi, wankers." Sniper stands around the corner opposite of the front deck in the shadows. He holds up an instant camera. "Postcard."

"You still write to your parents for _every_ contract?" Scout joins us and wraps his arms around me and Demo's shoulders.

"Yup." He lifts his sunglasses and rests him on his hat. "Asks about you buggers more than they ask about me."

"Maybe if you didn't write whole novels on how absolutely awesome I am, they wouldn't want to keep reading up on the latest adventures of Scout." 

"Just smile," Sniper orders and lifts the camera to his eye. I beckon Pyro to step over closer to me so Soldier can also get into frame. He sidesteps a few times over to me before realizing I'm trying to bring him into a side hug. He sits on the glossy white floor instead and Soldier puts his hand on my shoulder while both he and Demo give a thumb's up. These two have got to have been fathers in an alternate universe if they don't have families in this one. The camera flashes and Sniper shakes the photo that comes out, checking the image and tucking it into his pocket. "Nice."

"Let me make sure you got my good side," Scout says as he pushes past me and Demo.

"And 'ere I thought you were going to say that every side is your good side," Sniper differs as he hands him the small square.

"Making sure you got my favorite good side." He studies it, smirking. "Looking good in my arms there, Accomplice."

"How many times do I gotta say it?" Engie comes around the corner behind Sniper. "She is not gonna wanna cuff ya, son."

"Like you'd know, and s'not like you've got a girl of your own," Scout mentions.

"And there ain't nothing wrong with that."

"Tick, tock, Ol' Faithful, wouldn't want the well to run dry."

Engie smirks, amused. "Surprised you even knew what that was, but at least I got the know-how on how to wrangle me a woman."

The two start to quibble and Sniper takes the photo back from Scout, handing it to Demo for him to see who then passes it to me. Soldier and Pyro peer over my shoulder. The image is black and white which gives it a certain charm. These idiots... "Go ahead and keep it, Luv. Souvenier for your first job. I'll send my parents something else."

"Thank you," I smile at it. This gives me a lukewarm feeling as my perspective on certain team members has changed drastically from when I first met them. Demo and Pyro being in the same picture as me and expressing joy to the best of their ability is another major upgrade. 

"Ready yourselves, gentlemen, we are approaching the target," Spy warns us as he pulls on his ski mask.

" _Wunderbar,_ " Medic yawns as he and Miss Pauling try to fit in the narrow passageway with the rest of the population. Wasn't expecting him to be as muscular as he is, either. I saw minimal amounts of him while at Vanguard when everyone started changing unprompted. A hairy chest and stomach and trunks colored as the Germanic flag. I turn around altogether and watch as we approach the large yacht. "Care to join us, Miss Fredrickson?"

"I--" 

"Doesn't matter, you have to." Miss Pauling leans against Medic. "Sorry, seasickness... I think I'm over it. It's just a boatful of BLUs and the one triplet, so don't worry about hurting innocents. Medic, Demo and Engie are going on board as repairmen, and Spy will be cloaked should immediate backup be needed. We'll stay here in case of things going sideways. I can't board because they'd recognize me, so I'll be back here hiding for the most part.

"You can still call me if you need anything, but try not to use my name at all. Medic and Sniper are the two that are going for the kill in case of an emergency, Engie is going for the maintenance front, and Demo is going to be rigging the boat. Really, all you need to do is be the least suspicious one there and act as their supervisor to gain entry to different parts of the vessel. If you see anything of interest, the money, or stolen TF intelligence, feel free to bring it back if you can."

"If they're BLUs, wouldn't they notice us?" I question.

"Different branches for different states. Florida REDs couldn't make it to this one since they're cleaning up a few more messes in Miami. Besides, we're the Administrator's favorite team."

Demo crosses his arms. "Doubtful, but."

"But what?" Miss Pauling asks.

"Scot's tongue," he rebounds.

The yacht nears, and the music it was playing before finally registers with my brain. There's a good amount of bass in it that I can feel across the water. We couldn't have asked for a better distraction.

Scout elbows Demo, and he rolls his eye. " _Avast yee, swash-buckling mates_."

"I love you, Demo," Scout swoons wistfully.

"I'll stick a bottle of brandy up your arse, ya weapon."

Scout chuckles nervously as we start getting our supplies and into place. I go up to the wheelhouse one last time with Engie while docking next to the yacht, Sniper and Heavy tethering us to the ship. I pick up my backpack, sliding on the straps and watching people walk around through tinted windows. Engie rests the boat and opens a hatch on the floor, pulling out a toolbox and replacing it with his white cowboy hat.

"Whatcha got there?"

"Tools, Miss Ma'am," he says. "We're gonna be doing a lot more disassembling rather than fixing today, though."

"Let's just hope we can convince them otherwise," I sigh.

"Keep one of those pretty little smiles on your face and they won't question a word you tell 'em," he claims, tapping my cheek.

I follow him down with a bit of boosted confidence, checking in with Miss Pauling before we switch to the other boat. "What should I do if I see Robbie?"

"Leave him alone, and don't engage with him unless needed. If he talks to you first, keep your conversation short but natural."

"Okay, okay," I nod. Medic walks by with a large black metal case that looks like a toolbox, Sniper setting up in the wheelhouse. Scout pushes past me and Miss Pauling with a wink, and I wait until he's outside of earshot. "Are the guys normally this... Uh, jumpy?"

"Are you kidding? You're a woman working with them on a contract in a swimsuit, you're the greatest thing to happen to them since alcohol."

"Is that saying a lot or--"

"It is _constant_ drinking," she whispers with her hand to the side of her mouth as I bend my knees a bit to have her reach my ear. "I'm pretty sure you lay in the middle with Spy on the tolerance chart with Demo at the top and Pyro at the bottom."

I furrow my brows. " _Oh._ "

"I wouldn't worry too much, though. They're just a bunch of men who kill people for a living, so they don't exactly have women lining up out the door. Only, like, three of them are in long-term relationships. It'll calm down once you get resettled."

I furrow my brow. "What do you mean by 'women lining up out of the door?'"

"Let's get to gettin'," Engie calls as he ushers me to the dock. Miss Pauling hangs back and waves while heading to the backroom with Heavy, Pyro, Scout, and Soldier.

Medic assists me in stepping up onto the yacht from the lower elevation of our trawler, picks up his case, and turns his attention to the older man approaching us. It's Robbie already, brown wavy hair and green eyes with olive skin. His hair is rather long, stopping just above his shoulders.

"Finally, you're here!" He exults. "This _is_ a luxury rent after all. I didn't think I'd need to ask for my money back so soon."

Engie slows him down. "No need for that, sir. Pier master forgot to let us go in an' do our preliminary check before y'all embarked. The yacht is rented out by our company, and we're just trying to ensure quality."

"So... there's nothing wrong with the boat?" He questions.

"No sir, just checking to make sure your experience is the best it can be," Engie tells with charisma. 

"Great, that's great... I'm sorry, my name's Robbie. What should I call you?" He holds out his hand.

"Dell." Engie shakes with him.

"Dr. Humboldt," Medic almost whispers, taking his hand next.

Robbie winces. "Doctor? Why is there a doctor?"

"Just observing water and sewage, it's a science degree," Medic sighs, already annoyed with our target.

"Tavish," Demo redirects Robbie and firmly shakes his hand. 

Robbie turns to me and his back straightens out as he looks me up and down. "And who might this be?"

"Fredrickson," I put and still take his hand. He kisses the back of my hand which I retract rather quickly with Demo putting his hand in between us as Engie pushes Robbie back.

"It's uh-- Not very appropriate for business, dontcha think?"

"She's our supervisor." Demo adds. I glance at Medic whose only reaction was to shrug with an apologetic smile. Demo pulls me away from Robbie. "We're getting tae work now, mun."

"Oh, sure, be on your way, the quicker the better." Robbie returns to the main deck with the party and we all huddle in a circle. Engie talks business.

"Tavish and I'll go down to the engine room. You three make your way to one of the bathrooms. Make it seem like you're doing your work before you go off to explore, Miss Fredrickson. Got all of that, Spy?"

Loud and clear," he says in a low volume over my shoulder. I flinch. "I shall be a floater and watch from afar. If I were to interact with any of you we would both be at risk of being exposed."

"Gotcha," I whisper. "Shall we, then?"

" _Viel glück, euch allen,_ " Medic conveys.

"One last thing," Spy whispers. "Happy birthday, Doctor."

Medic scoffs with a smile and pushes us forward. We travel to the deck and enter the main building section, avoiding eye contact in general with any of the party-goers. All of them are very proud of showing off the fact that they're BLU associates, the themes being almost exclusively that color. Some wear patches on their arms that showcase their class symbols. I'm assuming that the triplets were double backers.

There's mahogany wood paneling for the floor and a lush red theme to go with the clean white of the interior. We walk on hardwood floors, flip flops smacking against the gloss. I can very faintly hear Spy's dress shoes, but I can't pinpoint where they are. Medic opens the first door he sees, stepping inside and holding the door open for me. Engie and Demo continue on without us, Spy's position to be assumed with them. The German sighs and sets his box down on the marble tiling, reaching behind the toilet and turning off the water before flushing it. He opens the clasp on his box, maneuvering around the syringes and crossbow for a drill and a pipe bomb. I go to close and lock the door behind us as I hear potential witnesses coming down the hall. 

"Tavish suggested we also get one in here as well," he grunts as he sticks a bit onto the drill head and starts to pull the screws that hold the porcelain to the floor. "Very disgusting and unhygienic, but the comedic effect for _kinder_ is ever-present." 

"Can't expect him to do all of the work. How many did he give you?" I stand next to him.

"Three, one for this bathroom, one for the kitchen, and another to be placed where we see fit. Could you help me with this?" He stands up and wedges himself in between the toilet and the wall while I get betwixt the sink counter and the other side. I squat down and lift, trying my best not to let my fingers slip. Medic eyes my legs when we set it down. " _Deine Oberschenkel_ are rather muscular for a woman of your stature."

"My what now?" I ask while turning my body slightly.

"Namely your quadriceps and your adductors," he continues, squatting as he examines my thighs with his index finger to his chin. "Yes, they're in very good shape." He stands and puts his hands on my waist. "Your entire body has a nice sculpt to it in accordance with your height, hip size, and bust size. Any doctor would be able to tell you to take of yourself. What are these scars here?"

I peel his fingers off. "You're being weird again, and I don't think now is the time for a physical."

" _Oh, du hast Recht,_ you'd be correct." He picks up the pipe bomb and shows it to me. "These are on a synchronous timer and detonate simultaneously when Tavish gives the command. Just press this here and drop this down there..."

He hits a green switch and drops the explosive into the hole. I help him move the porcelain back, and he screws it back into the floor, leaving the water off. "We're set. I'll go to the kitchen, but you should take this and put it wherever you think viable."

I take a bomb from him and put it into my backpack. "Okay, go down to the hull with Dell and Tavish when you're done."

"One thing before you go," Medic whistles before I leave. "Call him _'Dr. Conagher_.'"

I squint. "He's a doctor?"

"Erm, _ja_."

"I've been calling him by his first name this entire time," I mutter. "But he told me to call him by his first name. Why doesn't he like being called a doctor?"

"He's just a bit too shy," Medic sighs with a mischievous smile. "I really do suggest you call him by his title, though."

"Thanks for telling me," I say, leaving the bathroom and walking down the hall to a living area. A few people lounge around on couches and chat up a storm while intoxicated. It's only noon, sheesh. I spot a spiral staircase and walk up going unnoticed by patrons. I continue down the hall and pass by a few people before coming up to some doors, opening and checking each one I pass. I back out of a room, gently closing the door when a voice I somewhat recognize calls me out.

"You!" I jolt and turn, seeing the heavy from the Vanguard building in New Mexico. "Your scunt friend isn't here, but I guess you'll do."

I back up a bit, his soldier pal putting a hand on his shoulder. "Wait, are you actually going to fight a girl?"

"She offered last time, remember?" He brings up our library encounter. "This is payback. She and her friends were the ones that did all of that to us."

The soldier's gaze turns hard. "Tch, alright then, I'll jump in, too."

I pull up my top, standing with my arms out as if saying 'come get me.' " This feels unfair, but I wouldn't fight me if I were you guys, I play kinda dirty."

"Don't care. I get pretty pissed off when I'm almost blown to smithereens." The heavy cracks his knuckles, the soldier stretching out his arms to intimidate me by his bulk. He steps up to me, towering over me as he breathes out of his nose in my face like a bull ready to charge a matador. 

"Okay then, let's play dirty."


	23. Twenty-Three: Money Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Spy)
> 
> To say that I find a great investment in observing Miss Fredrickson from afar is a bit of an understatement. She is what many would consider petite, but she had no problem almost incapacitating two of the more physically aggressive classes on her own. Of course, she required aid after a while, but she is none the wiser of my voyeuristic tendencies and letting scenarios play out before interfering. Though I choose to use that word, that does not mean I possess any joy out of watching my peers. I cannot say where, but I am fairly certain I have witnessed such behaviors from old-time colleagues. Perhaps I shall have them meet should Miss Fredrickson be one to stay with the team.

Who would win: Two trained male mercenaries- one five-foot-eleven and the other six-foot-flat- with revenge on their mind, or one five-foot-five woman that used to fight people in the streets as a young adult and worked as a waitress for a little over a decade?

"You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna swing?" I ask, looking up at the heavy.

"I'll be fair and let you throw one first," he taunts, bending over to be my height. 

I scoff. "No no, I think you're going to need to go first, trust me."

"Bitch," the soldier spits and lunges at me. I jump back, grabbing his hair and thrusting my knee into his face before throwing him against the window. The heavy comes next and comes in with a left hook that misses me and collides with the wall, grimacing at the hole he made. My fist launches forward and connects to his right eye socket, retracting, and getting greedy for seconds. The soldier pins me against a door after I make my second hit and latches onto my neck. I spit in his face and reach for the door handle behind me.

We tumble into a bedroom, and I scramble to get to my feet. Picking up a nearby chair, I wind up, swing it across my body, and throw it at the heavy to keep him out. I step on the soldier's stomach as I run back out of the bedroom seeing as there's nothing else for me to use nor is it a good idea to have me in an enclosed space. My arm aches from the rush the soldier did but not enough to deter me from jabbing the heavy again in his other eye this time. He backs off for a few seconds, heaving at the fight I'm putting up.

The soldier stands and prepares for round two, putting up both of his fists and hitting me square in the chest. I gasp for air and stumble back, falling to the floor to dodge another punch. My skin tingles and burns as the impression of his knuckles remains. He kicks me over onto my side, and my head hits a doorframe. Throwing my arms up protects my face but exposes my stomach, the mercenary bunting as if I'm a ball. Desperate, I grab onto his leg to mess with his balance and pull myself across the hardwood floor enough to shoot out my foot to his crotch. His feet leave the ground for a moment before he hits his head against the window again and sinks into a fetal position. Going back for the heavy, I slap him across the face and then charge him with my elbow, knocking him onto his back. I'm relentless in pounding his face in, clasping my hands together to go down double-fisted. I'm thrown off and get back on my feet, taking off my backpack and grabbing the straps before flinging it upside his head. He falls back and cracks his skull open on a metal door handle, laying down limp. I pant and turn around to check on the soldier with a fist wound up for me. 

Spy decloaks and catches his fist, grabbing his neck right under his head and pushing him back. He disappears from sight once more and takes the soldier by his neck. He appears while putting him in a chokehold, his hand on his mouth to keep him from yelling.

" _Calmez-vous... Détendez-vous, mon ami,_ " Spy shushes him until he ceases movement, dragging him into the open room and lobbing him onto the bed. Spy rolls up his sleeves again and dusts his shirt off. I drag the heavy by his feet far enough in to close the door. Spy turns to me. "Clearly, you have fought hand-to-hand."

"Yeah, from, like, a decade ago. I stopped brawling when I turned twenty-one. " I slide my backpack back on and flinch when I try to straighten out my back.

"Improvised weaponry looks to be something you specialize in," he mentions, gesturing toward my bag and the flipped chair. "As I said before, you are resourceful."

"Think anyone heard us?" I hold my stomach and try to stand up straight as much as possible, still hunched over by a fraction.

"No. The music and their intoxication would have provided a more than sufficient noise suppressant. Were you searching for valuables?"

I nod. "Wanna come?"

"I would, but I must go check on our friends in the hull. I shall be back, though. _Adieu._ " And just like that, he's gone. I exit after him and close the door behind me. The very last door at the end of the hall yields spoils, looking to be a sort of doorman room with many items strewn about. From guns to bags to boxes full of god knows what, it feels small and claustrophobic. I walk in and start to sort through items. I don't know what I should be looking for, but this RED suitcase looks mighty interesting, resting on the desk right in front of me. The code for the padlock is etched into the handle; very smart and classy of RED to do that for each other. Popping the case open, bundles of cash are arranged in the same fashion. This isn't three million, though. It's obvious that he didn't waste it all of whatever this is since our buddy the pier owner kept the rental money he spent, but the rest of the sum isn't here. I dig around a bit more but come up with nothing. Do the other two brothers have it? I wouldn't blame them if they kept it from their third brother seeing as he's slightly irresponsible. Taking the entire suitcase is the stupid choice since we're trying to get out of here undetected. 

Taking a pipe bomb from my bag, I search for a viable place to put it. Perhaps under some other items? Under the desk seems more classy for some reason. I get on my knees and look under the mahogany furniture. The phone ringing in my bag scares me, and I rush to answer it, the pipe bomb falling to the floor. "Fredrickson."

"This is Heavy, Miss Pauling told Heavy to ask little lady how job was going," Heavy's voice sounds demonic over the phone. 

"Ah, I've found a fraction of the money. The rest must be in the other brothers' custody." I take out a roll of duct tape from one of the drawers and nestle the phone between my shoulder and neck. "We're still setting up the bombs."

"Accomplice, this is your POC, Soldier speaking. I've come to inform you that you are at risk of being found out." Soldier yells as he's taken the phone from Heavy.

The tape cuts in two when I bite down on it. "What are you talking about?"

"I am handing the phone to Sniper now."

The bomb beeps when I flick the switch. "Luv, I saw your duel with those other two mercenaries. They've found 'em."

" _Shit,_ " I hiss while taping the bomb to the underside of the desk. "Are they coming over to me?"

"Since you're saying you found the money? I'd think so. Do what you need to do an' get out of there. I'm 'olding off on taking any shots, but if I see any of you in a spot of trouble, I'm doing it without confirmation."

"As you should." My bag fills as I stuff the goods inside. 

"You want us to infiltrate?" He asks.

"Nope," I answer and throw my bag onto my back again. "Prep the boat, but keep it low. I'm going to go round up the team and get us out of here."

"Spy's taking care of your roadblock right now. Be careful, Luv," Sniper warns.

"Mm-hmm." I hang up. I exit the room and watch Spy manifest in front of me, switchblade in hand. We both nod toward each other, and he vanishes behind me as I run down the steps and to the kitchen, checking the party through the glass windows. Their guard is still down. I get tugged to a hatch on the floor, and it lifts up, by itself, Spy silently guiding me to the others. We venture down into the cold lower level, running past machinery and running pipes. Engie spots me and calls me over, Spy becoming visible. "You done yet?"

"Yes Ma'am," Engie confirms and looks at my bruising forearms. "You alright, dear?"

"Just fine, but we've gotta go." 

"Did ye foond the money?" Demo asks as he rounds a generator.

"All there is to find. We can talk about it once we jump ship."

Medic looks me over. "You're hurt."

"Made a mess upstairs."

"So it _was_ you!" Robbie echoes as we all turn to his voice. He approaches up with his index finger up. "You were here for the money!"

I bob my head from side-to-side. "I mean, yeah. That kinda happens when you mess with the Administrator."

"You work for Helen, too! Oh gosh," he whines, pacing in a circle. He pulls out a pistol and points it at me. "Ah, I'm sorry, you were hot, too."

I laugh at him. "You think you scare me?" I advance toward him, and he retracts the gun while backing up. I take the gun from him and hand it to Spy. "We got what we came for. We'll be on our way now."

"Maybe," another voice intrudes, cocking a handgun of their own. I turn around. It's the woman from earlier this morning. "Give me the bag."

"But I like this bag," I whine. 

"You think I c--" I take off my bag and fling it at her, slapping her gun out of her hand and grabbing onto her collar to run her back against a generator block. She kicks me off, but I pick up my bag and crush it into her face. She sweeps my feet when she's down, and I hit my head against the floor when I make my descent. Her gun is too far for either of us, so she resorts to getting on top of me. I slide out from under her and try to hit her away. I lift my legs, having my sandal bottom meet her face. My knees close on either side of her neck, and she chokes, clawing at my calves with her fingertips. I let her go when she raggedly gasps for air, standing up and picking up my backpack while kicking away her gun. Engie glances at me.

"No, no I don't think you care."

"Damn, Miss," he announces, gathering his tools. 

"Yeah, thanks for the assist, guys," I sarcastically sigh. Everyone looks off in their own direction, and I furrow my brows in confusion.

Robbie grunts, and I whirl around to see Spy grappling him with a chokehold. " _Dormir_ _._ " His eyes roll into the back of his head and he seizes for a split moment before going limp.

Medic checks his pulse. "He's dead."

He looks over to the woman and I push him forward. "Don't worry about her."

"You should," she coughs, pointing to one of our rigs. The timer reads that we only have five minutes as one of the wires are cut. We are quite literally out of time.

Engie takes the gun from Spy and shoots her in the forehead, picking up his duffle bag. Demo and Spy have already left the hull, Medic, Engie and I lagging slightly behind. We push past a crowd of people as they congregate in the kitchen now. A few BLUs wait for us on the deck, various different guns in hand. Sniper's rifle cracks as he takes a shot from the wheelhouse and hits two enemies with one bullet. He waves us down. "You bloody waitin' for an invitation?"

More BLUs come out with weapons, blocking our escape to the trawler. Spy cloaks and backstabs a few to create an opening, Engie shooting a few in between the eyes with his stolen weapon. I take on a sniper, grabbing his rifle and jabbing him before yanking it out of his grasp and whacking him with it. Tavish swings his toolbox, a _chunk_ landing when he bashes someone's nose in. 

" _Schnell!"_ Medic beckons and runs to the side of the yacht. He and Pyro race to untie the rope, as everyone throws their items and bodies into the boat. Stowaways try to breach the deck, but Scout and Soldier fend them off. I lob my bag over to Soldier to catch, seeing a jet ski from the corner of my eye. Heavy stands in the wheelhouse, ready to go. I use my arms to let him know it's okay to go without us, pointing to the smaller watercraft. He starts the motor and I return to the deck to get the remaining two.

Spy is gone and Engie has acquired a shotgun from one the BLUs. I pull him along to the side, untethering the vehicle as he covers for me, tussling with a guy before throwing him overboard. The trawler is already a ways away from us, and I hop onto the jet ski, Engie throwing the shotgun to the side and getting on behind me, reaching past me, jabbing the ignition key in, and revving the handles. I fall back into him as we move forward, kicking up the water behind us. I grab onto the handles once Engie lets go, steering us in the same direction in the trawler. 

_"Hoo-wee!"_ He calls as he watches the yacht get further away from us. "Guess that's that." We speed along across the great open blue at top speed. Engie rests his hands on my hips, and I jolt at the texture of his glove. "Whoop, sorry, didn't mean to spook ya."

"You're fine," I tell him. He places them again to keep his balance and to not fall off into the deep. His hands are pretty big, and the one he has exposed feels rugged and very warm. One of his fingers is placed over my scars, as I shift further up the ski, causing him to check his hand placement slightly enough to move them off of my blemishes.

"You know how to drive one of these?" He asks into my ear to be heard over the noise.

"Kinda," I yell at him. 

"You'll slow down by easing on the gas, and you'll stop by flicking this." He points on my other side to the lever behind the handle. "When you press it outward, it goes into neutral. You won't go forward, but you can rotate yourself around for orientation, got it?"

I nod and keep my grip on the acceleration. He leans into my body to keep us compact, his chin resting on my shoulder to see ahead without leaning too far. Water speckles my skin, cold droplets splashing all over my legs. Engie taps his thumb on my side. Something about the glove doesn't feel right. Not the glove itself but rather what's under. Has something horrible happened to his hand? Is that why we won't show it? The yacht explodes and we both duck before looking back to see the carnage, displaced water raining down on us moments later as we try to outride the waves that are coming for us. The trawler slows ahead, and Engie puts his gloved hand over mine to slowly release for speed. His other hand flicks the lever and we stop propelling, floating over to the back ledge of the boat. Medic and Scout come out to meet us.

"I know for a fact that you're not trying to compete with me, Engie," Scout asserts. "Dontcha think you're a little too- too dated?"

"She's never driven a jet ski before," Engie bluntly states. 

Scout puts his fingers to his eyes and then points them at the man behind me before walking off. Miss Pauling takes his place. "Counted the money, it's only a million."

"Richard and Renard have the rest. We'll have to wait until the cruise tomorrow to start thinking of how we're going to eliminate them," Medic briefs with crossed arms. "Are you two getting back on? You are slightly injured, Miss Fredrickson."

"I don't think you'd want to pick up the thing, and we can't just leave it out here. We're going to have to ride it back," Engie informs. "I can drive this time if you want?"

I step up on to the back ledge and let him move upward. Miss Pauling grabs my arms as though she's objecting to this setup. "You know, you don't have to get back on it. It only takes one of you." She thinks about her previous statement before letting go of me. "Nevermind, you should go."

"Why the sudden change?" I ask.

"Coast Guard," she says, looking off into the distance and watching a motorboat speed toward us. "We're at risk of getting detained. They're going to go after you guys first since you're on the smaller craft. Engie, how fast does that thing go?"

"Reckon about thirty."

"You might be able to outdo them, but it's just contingency," she wagers our chances as she digs through her bag. "Take this."

I refuse the gun. "I'm not shooting at the military, are you _crazy?_ "

"Actually, just wait here. Get off the jet ski, get in the boat, c'mon." She groans and puts the gun away.

Medic hops over the barrier onto the ledge and starts tying the jet ski to us to keep it from drifting. Soldier comes down to the back deck as the Coast Guard nears, slowing down and drifting to our side.

"Do we have permission to board your craft?" One of the four personnel hesitantly asks. 

"Coasties!" Soldier greets them. "Wonderful to see that we still have men defending our front lines from the sea. Yes, permission granted."

They're presumably between Scout's and my age, looking rather nervous as this may be their first time responding to a situation such as this. They lighten up at Soldier's presence. Two of them hop over to our ship as the other two put a temporary connection to us. "Do you know what perpetrated just now, sir?"

"A bunch of hoo-ha, that's what," Soldier grumbles. I stumble over the barrier.

"We don't. We had just gotten off the boat since we have some business to attend to back onshore. We were riding away and... up she went."

We all look back, the water turbulence finally catching up and rocking us back and forth as they pass under. 

"Do you know what was happening aboard?" The Coast Guardsman prods. 

"A party, and that's about it. If there was anything else going on, we didn't know about it," I feign slight curiosity. "I guess we got really lucky today, we're just a maintenance team for the pier."

"What's your reason for going back to land, if I may ask?"

"My wife and children have passed just now, in the midst of our court case on medical malpractice," Medic blurts, looking to me and Miss Pauling for approval of his fib. I stand with my mouth agape, and he covers his face while walking away, dramatically lamenting. "I'm sorry, I need a moment."

"Dr. Humboldt," I groan, going after him and letting Miss Pauling and Soldier do all of the talking. We both hide in the lower level room, a small cluttered office with a sunken-in couch off to the side. We sit, Medic leaning over his lap and resting his hands under his chin as he stares at the floor. "We could've just said we were going back to the pier for more work."

"Wait for it," he whispers. 

The Coast Guardsman steps up to the doorway. "My condolences, Doctor. You two take care."

He leaves, and Heavy makes his way over to the ledge to aid in them bringing the jet ski up onto the back deck. Five minutes of metal clanking and cautionary instructions later, and the military motorboat is off on their way to go investigate the blast. Heavy glances at us as he makes his way back to the wheelhouse to skipper with Engie. Medic lays his head on my shoulder when we lean to the side to accommodate for the change in speed, and I grab a pillow for him to lay his head in my lap as he sprawls out on the length of the couch and closes his eyes. "If you fake a horrible accident, you'll get out of a lot of situations much easier."

I look down at him and chuckle at our dumb luck. "The irony of your claim, though."

"I have laid witness to many of these interactions, I just picked up on it after a while. I also have a dead wife anyway, so that adds to the realism I believe."

"Ah, Medic, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. She tried to kill me, so I killed her first. I'm remarried and we agreed that we wouldn't kill each other," he smirks and turns onto his back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, _Ich werde jetzt ein Nickerchen machen._ "

"Oh," I mention, "today's your birthday?"

He smiles. "Yes, it is. I turn forty-six. _Gott im Himmel,_ that feels wrong to admit."

"Doesn't it suck that you have to do this kind of work on your birthday?"

"To some, it would be. I'd much prefer doing something more grotesque by your standards, Miss Fredrickson."

"That makes sense. Well, happy birthday, Medic. I'll be sure to write it down somewhere." I grab a pen from the desk and scribble on my arm to make sure it works. "Today's the..."

"Twenty-first. September. I'd be in _Deutschland_ with my parents right now celebrating _Weis'n._ "

Scout snarls as he walks in. "Ugh, now we've got Medicine Man against me, too."

"Not me. I can add myself in, though, if you'd like the competition. Full disclosure that I'm not interested in you Miss Fredrickson, but it would merely be to intimidate Scout. All you have to do is ask for the simulation of natural primal instinct."

"I fucking hate Florida," he rambles with a cracking voice. I flatten a reluctant smile, viewing the doctor on my lap. These guys are quick to the jump, and Medic wasn't even one I'd expect to act in this sort of fashion. He's married though. Only Jeremy and a bit of Demo with how overt they have been so far. Maybe Engie, too. Well, he did say he's just a "friendly" person, so maybe not so much Engie.

"I'm assuming you didn't rest when Miss Fredrickson told you to?" Medic sighs.

I shrug. "It's not like you did either, Medic. There's still time, Scout," I move over slightly and make a small space on my other side. "No lap space, only shoulder."

He stares at us, his lips perked out with flattened eyebrows. He accepts my offer regardless and squeezes in, laying his head on my shoulder. Scout reminds me of a cat in some aspects from his short temper to his general athletic abilities, being rather slippery. A ferret or a weasel might be a better comparison, perhaps. He shifts his body so his legs hang over the arm of the chair and his back to my arm. His head hangs as he folds somewhat like a lawn chair. I take Medic's glasses off for him and hold them in my lap so he doesn't roll over them, the frame being rather frail. They don't look to be the same ones that Engie made for him on a whim. I observe him briefly. His eyelids are a darker color, like a light purplish-brown tint of a shadow is cast over them. His eyebrows are highly expressive, malleable feeling like the right adjective to use in describing them. Miss Pauling cautiously steps in, unphased by seeing me in between the two.

"Comfy?" She questions with a smile. 

"Do they do this often?"

"All the time," Medic mumbles, eyes still closed. 

"Medic is an insomniac and is arguably nocturnal like Engie. He goes for long periods of time without sleeping and just crashes after a while. I think this might be his crash. Scout just sleeps whenever he feels like," she takes a seat at the desk. "Medic is the one who uses his teammates as pillows the most often."

"I find it fair as I do nothing but heal them. _For free,_ " he seethes. "I'm not even allowed to do experiments on them since they don't give me authorization. _Not that I'd even ask for it in the first place--_ "

"I guess you're not counting that time you stabbed our hearts with those charge thingies," Scout says in a normal volume.

"That was voluntary after you saw Heavy do an Über."

"What else have you done to us?"

"In due time, you'll find out my dear lab rat," Medic whispers, grinning and opening his eyes slightly to look at the ceiling. " _In due time._ "

Miss Pauling pulls her phone out of her bag when it starts to ring, and she answers. "It's Pauling. Oh, Neuro."

_"Gib mir das Telefon. Geben Sie es mir jetzt, Fräulein Pauling."_ Medic shoots his hand up and flexes his fingers. Miss Pauling stands up and hands the phone off to him, crossing her arms with a smile as Medic sits up excitedly and chuckles while taking his glasses back from me. _"Danke, Liebling. Ich liebe dich, Lieblingshirn..._ I understand... I love you. _Auf Wiedershen._ " He lays back down after giving the phone back to Miss Pauling. "Today is a good day."


	24. Twenty-Four: The Trouble in Paradise Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Medic)
> 
> I wasn't very surprised when we found out we have more targets to kill as this only seemed like a natural evolution as those two mercenaries have a knack for stopping by when unwanted. I suppose the Dummköpfe didn't take into account that they're stuck on a boat with us, not the other way around. It's also revealed that our conference is one of status, so maybe it wouldn't be all too bad on an idea to Überzeugen Sie meinen Freund Engineer, den ersten Schritt zu machen.

The cabins are smaller than I anticipated, but at least there are two separate beds. We _are_ a part of standard booking after all. I lob my suitcase onto the bed and open the curtains to the window, letting sunlight touch our dastardly dark living space. Bathroom is exceedingly small, but there's at least enough room in there to turn around. A bar is mounted on the wall with an ironing board hung under it and an iron sits on a shelf above the bar. I unzip my suitcase and take out the yellow dress folded and wrapped in plastic for protection, sticking it on the rack to prevent from creasing later.

_"Hold on, hold on,"_ Miss Pauling whispers as she comes into our cabin with the phone to her ear, Spy setting down her luggage in the doorway. "Yes, Administrator, she's right here with me."

She hands the phone to me and scours her bag for something. "Administrator?"

"Miss Fredrickson," the Administrator starts, "would you care to give me a status report?"

"Oh, yes, Ma'am. Robbie was successfully eliminated yesterday and we recovered a milion. The Sangria Sanctum will be embarking within the hour, and we are all on board. Our trip lasts for roughly eighteen days, the stop at Costa Rica being on the seventh day. We plan to have them both taken care of by that time, forcing us to make the trip back to Florida for investigations. Our shell pier police company, RED Herring, will cover and we'll be off scot-free."

"Yes, I see. I've called for another reason," she says.

"What is it, Administrator?"

"A side job. Remarkably, the one I had prepared as a test when you get back has found its way to you."

My back straightens, and I glance at Spy. "A side job, Ma'am?"

"I'm sure it won't distract you from your task at hand, I'm fairly certain you've already seen who you're supposed to kill anyway," she chuckles and exhales. "Another set of triplets, two men and one woman. We don't know their names, they're only mentioned as the Baileys. They're mercenaries just like all of you that have been hired to protect the remaining two brothers."

"The woman's been taken care of, and they already know of our presence," I inform.

"Don't insult me, Miss Fredrickson, I know that much," she playfully slides. "They _did_ work under me originally after all. They underestimate your abilities, and I don't have a full grasp on yours, yet. Are you willing?"

"And I have to be the one to do it?" I ask.

"You have to play a hand. Miss Pauling will evaluate your schemes on top of the advising she's doing. You're learning to follow instead of leading as I had so hastily attempted to have you do before, Miss Fredrickson, she's there to guide you. I'm not saying you can't give orders of your own, though. Do take care of the boys, I know they're quite the handful." She hangs up, and I hand the phone to Miss Pauling. 

"We have two more targets, so this might get a bit messy." I close my suitcase and slide it under my bed. "Two other mercenaries, the ones that were following us to the hotel yesterday."

"Shall I gather everyone?" Spy offers.

"Please." Spy turns out into the hall and returns with the team. We pack in like sardines and close the door to make this a private conversation. "Two new hits."

"Spy said we'll be taking on those creepos that followed us around yesterday." Scout sits down on my bed.

"Yes, the Administrator would also prefer it if they weren't in her way," I speak as I check the window before closing it. "To be frank, I'd much rather learn the layout of the ship before we even think about how we're going to go about this. Creating an entire play will mean nothing to us if we get turned around and lost. Let's not all disperse as a group, though, that might seem a little less natural."

"We could go to ballroom to make plan?" Heavy proposes, resting his thumbs in the belt of his shorts. 

"Yes, I agree with that notion. I shall accompany you two," Medic declares.

"That's definitely on our list of stops. Let's also check out the dining areas and some of the amenities they offer, as well as the main deck with the pool and whatnot. Oh! We also need to get on deck for sailaway so we can survey what kind of crowd we're dealing with," I tack on possible objectives. "Anyone else want to join us?"

"I'll bite." Sniper pushes his glasses up. 

"I'll go, too," Soldier rings and points to himself with his thumb. I take off his helmet and rest it on my bed.

_"Mhh,"_ Pyro hums. 

Miss Pauling shakes her head. "Pyro, no, you can't. Sorry. I think it'd be best if you lay low until the quiet hours so you won't put up any red flags with passengers talking about your appearance."

He drops his shoulders. _"Hrrh."_

"Sorry, sweetie," I apologetically shrug. "Doctors Mikhail and Humboldt, Barrister Doe, and Mr. Mun--"

"Mick."

"and Mick with me. Let's not all leave at once, though. All of you should slowly filter out in smaller groups. Try your damndest to be incognito. Even the slightest alarm that an innocent shows could reach the brothers, and it'd be extremely difficult to get to them."

"I'll go with the rest of the team so there are two groups. Let's meet up in the west dining hall at... I'll say seven for dinner since the buffet is obviously going to be full. That gives us five hours. Spy, will you keep Pyro company while we're away?" Miss Pauling picks up her purse, and I do, too. Spy nods after rolling his eyes, and the two of them leave right before my group goes. 

The halls are bustling as people scurry to get to their cabins, a few running around like headless chickens for no reason in particular, making it a chore to wade through the crowd. Heavy forges a way for us to pop out in a hub that also acts as a lobby. The added room helps with traffic flow. Plants rest in tall metal vases at either side of any exit, low hanging, and lush. I'm thinking of fern. The carpeting looks a bit worn from all of the voyages that must've been experienced prior. The sun shines in through a wide opening that leads out to one of the decks. We might quite possibly be on the second level up, so now would be a good time to verify if I am. A crew member mumbles a greeting as I breeze by her and grab onto the railing to squint my eyes and survey what I can from the side of the ship. Medic and Sniper stand on either side of me, Medic resting his forearms on the warmed iron and Sniper having a smoke. Soldier bums Sniper's lighter to light a cigar he pulled out of nowhere. 

Medic turns to me. "We are currently on the lowest elevation deck."

"Eyes are on us," Sniper quietly tells. 

"How do you know we are being watched?" Heavy challenges his statement.

"Don't think I've ever told you in particular since we don't get together for work often, but I can just feel it. Like a sixth sense, get it?" 

"No," Heavy looks at him slightly confused. 

I flatten out the knee-length skirt to my orange dress as the wind picks it up. My stomach churns. "I understand what you're saying, I sense it, too. It feels like from above."

"Nice, Luv," he nods and looks at me. "Smart choice? Not going up there until we're done down here."

"Agreed," Medic mumbles, pushing up his glasses. "Would our sudden departure as a group also seem suspicious?"

"Groups make people nervous," Sniper says. "But that might not be the case 'ere. Power in numbers and many people are here with the trouble and strife, as well as the little ankle biters. As I always say: Be polite."

"I don't know how they do it in Upside-Down Land, but we don't exactly look like your all American family," Soldier bumps his arm. 

"People are gathering for sailaway anyway, so I don't think it'll be too bad," I say. The horn on the boat blares. "Especially since we're embarking right now. C'mon, you're starting to overthink this."

I push away from the railing and wait up for the flock of people coming out of the lobby before joining them. A tug on my purse strap makes me snap my head back and clutch my bag tighter with a hardened look, softening up at the sight of Pyro. Spy follows after him. "I apologize, _Mademoiselle._ Pyro is not one to be easily kept on a leash."

"I think he'll go unnoticed," Miss Pauling chimes in. I have trouble deciding who I should pay attention to. "And don't talk about Pyro like he's a dog. He's just a free spirit. We slipped out with the crowd. Breaking up after we're done doing a census would make more sense."

Heavy acts as a guide with his head being higher than everyone else's. I push past people to stand in between my Russian and German teammates against the railing. The port starts to get further away, marking the start of our mission. Numerous people try to lean over the railing and wave to the sea-side street, hoping for anyone to wave back. There isn't much activity on land given that this is more of a pointless action done to reenact a movie scene or fantasy. The "Bon Voyage" postcard feeling if you will. Many have figured out that it's not at all glamourous or exciting as dreamt to be, so they disperse and leave room for our more of us to gather together. Soldier sticks his arm out next to my head and points in the opposite direction of the dock. 

"Whale," he shouts, blowing smoke. Low and behold, another whale surfaces for a split second to shoot out water, the sun making me squint as it shines off the water on the horizon. Soldier sniggers. "Hehe, _whale_."

"Give them their space, Solly," Engie pulls him back slightly. "We also have one of the mercenaries from the hotel watching us from above."

"Called it, mate," Sniper mutters as he tosses his cigarette over the side of the ship. 

"Smaller pairs might be better, we're a walking bullseye otherwise. There's only two of them and eleven of us," I pull up my purse. "Pyro, you should really wait in your room buddy, a scene would be blown out of proportions with you, and--" I look at his chest. "Are those bombs?"

"Napalm, tae be exact," Demo informs.

I gasp and reach, picking them off and shoving them into my bag. "Jesus Christ, guys! How did we not get caught with these, oh my goodness."

_"Mrr huduh hmmph,"_ he tries to deter me from taking them, but I put a finger up and glare at him.

"Grouping is different but the plan is still the same, meet up for dinner. Fredrickson and our three esteemed doctors, let’s go case the conference room.” Miss Pauling elbows me.

“What’s your little conference about, anyway?” Scout pulls the brim of his cap to block out the sun.

“A World Leaders and Diplomat dinner,” she pushes up her glasses. “The Administrator was asked to come as a guest, so she said she’d send these three in her place.”

“Convenient coincidences seem to be an ongoing trend with her,” I note.

“Ya learn to gloss over it,” Engie puts his hand on the small of my back as we break up, Miss Pauling leading our section away. “I’m not one for formals and such, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know nothing about it.”

“Don’t you have to write a script on your engineering career and the lineage of which said career runs through your family, Dr. Conagher?” Medic walks next to him.

“Yup, and I’m stressin' horribly about it,” he chimes with a grin. “Y'all know I’m not one for many words.”

“Really?” I inquire. “I wouldn’t have ever guessed that you get stage fright.”

He shrugs, pulling me closer to his side by my hip when people whizz past my open side in the opposite direction. “Less that I get stage fright and more that I'm just... Not that talkative. It’s quiet all of the time while I’m tinkering and sketching schematics, Miss Fredrickson. Working out in the oil-fields in Midland and Odessa was the same way; we went in, did our work, collected pay, and went home. I’ve never quite exactly been in a highly social setting for extended periods of my life.”

“Dell was also farm boy, no?” Heavy adds.

“Mm-hmm, nobody talking unless it was the roosters in the morning, the crows stealing from the crops, my cousin was visitin', or me asking when dinner was going to be ready. I mean, I also talked a lot to Marmalade, but she was a beagle as old as dust, she can’t say much back to me.”

“Aw, I’ll help you write it, Dr. Conagher.” I offer.

“I also wish to provide help,” Heavy agrees. “It has been while since Misha has needed to look over college essay.”

“This isn’t exactly Russian, _Bärchen_. I know you’re looking forward to using that degree of yours again, but I don’t think it’ll prove too useful here, sorry to say. You should also worry about your own address,” Medic counters. “ _Ich würde meine eigene Hilfe anbieten, aber ich weiß, dass Sie nicht über die inneren Turbulenzen schreiben, die die Psyche des menschlichen genetischen Codes sind._ Wish you were, though. Genetics is something I amass great knowledge in and will be part of my own.”

“Er, I appreciate it, y’all, but I think I got it.”

"I do not need help with essay, Doctor," Heavy claims.

"Should I remind the two of you that you will be giving these in English?" Miss Pauling looks back at us.

"Do we now?" Medic lifts an eyebrow.

"I will need help with essay," The Russian sighs. 

Engie laughs as he adjusts his cowboy hat with his free hand. He lets go of me as we go back into the boat and walk to the staircase, going up a level. He looks at me as we stand on the landing. “Why did you call me _‘Doctor’_?”

“Dr. Humboldt said so, and that’s your title, is it not?” 

“I mean, yes, but--”

“But what?” I tilt my head. “You must’ve worked hard for it, it’s only respectful to address you by the correct name.”

Engie puts his hand on my arm. “Don’t call me that, please. Just Dell is fine.”

“No need to call Misha doctor either,” Heavy towers over us and opens the door. “Not unless you want to.”

“Dr. Humboldt is a bit obvious, but what gives the two of you that title anyway? Like, what’s your degree in?” I ask, curious. I link arms with Miss Pauling to lead her as she reads the map directory.

“Russian literature,” Heavy says.

“Well, depends,” Engie hesitantly speaks, “there are a few.”

“A… Few?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Eleven, to be exact,” Medic cheekily states, and Miss Pauling drags me to turn a corner, the guys in tow.

I stop walking and glance at Engie who flattens his lips. “I’m sorry, _eleven?_ ”

“Don’t make it a big deal, Miss,” he groans. “Now you’re going to start treatin’ me all different and high and mighty--”

“I’m, I-- No, I won’t I promise. It’s just... _Eleven?_ Eleven PhDs...” We continue walking, and Miss Pauling opens a set of double doors. “That’s quite the achievement, why aren’t you proud of that?”

“It’s not that I’m not proud of myself, it’s just that some people look at me a certain way when I tell them. If they see me as a dumb hick, I don’t pay too much mind, but it’s the two-facing they do once they find out about my education that does it for me.”

Medic picks a piece of lint off Engie’s shirt. “You dwell too much on the actions of others, Dr. Conagher.”

“Dell.”

The taller man smirks. “Alright, Dr. Dell."

"Hell."

"Dr. Hell, sorry. Didn't hear you correctly the first time."

“Damn you, Ludwig,” Engie sighs, and Medic and I have a good little laugh at his expense.

"If you wish to called Dell, I'll call you Dell, dear," I compromise.

Engie gives me a grin. Miss Pauling and Medic go off to talk to a cleaning lady vacuuming the carpet. "You telling me you don't have a degree since you did all that fussin'?"

"No, I don't," I say, growing slightly meek and feeling somewhat embarrassed. "I didn't go to college. Couldn't. But, now that I know you have _eleven_ PhDs--"

"You're in luck, Dell," Miss Pauling diverts our conversation as she hands us all pamphlets. "You've got an extra day to write your address since we got the day wrong."

"It's not a lot, but it's appreciated," he thumbs through the brochure. "I apparently have to speak after a Peace Diplomat from Beijing."

"Heavy is first one on list," Heavy observes the ordering of the people. He turns to me. "You write good English, yes?"

"I mean, yes, but--"

"Oh, it's you guys!" The mercenary twins we've been assigned to kill walk into the ballroom. Heavy's nose flares as he huffs. "Crazy unexpected that we'd also be getting on the same cruise as well as attending the same conference."

They're now of great importance to us. Taking out the trash this instance would be effective, but there are witnesses and the cleanup would be pain-staking. An identical pair from the triplets, and there's no way to distinguish one from the other. Matching clothing, matching haircuts, and I'm hoping for matching skill sets. Would be tremendously unfair if we corner one and make the late realization that he has abilities that are nothing like the ones his brother has. Neither could be older than Medic but no younger than Miss Pauling, who's the same age as Scout. Unless some official form of martial arts is embedded deep within them, I think I could handle them both with whatever street-brawl tactics I have accrued. Miss Pauling sticks her hand out. "I don't think we've met."

"No we have," he declines her hand. "Via Helen. Though it wasn't face-to-face, we certainly know much about you guys. Certainly a bit about you, Mona Fredrickson."

Throwing one of Pyro's napalm bombs feels like the right idea, but I scoff at them instead. Not even Miss Pauling knows too much about me, so I don't see why these guys would feel confident that they do. "Think it fair to tell us your names?"

"We simply go by the 'Baileys.' You can create your own names for us, we don't care since you won't be able to keep track of us, anyway."

"Your claim is bold," Heavy states and hits his fist in the palm of his other hand. "Should Heavy give one blackeye to make it easier for team?"

"Not now, Heavy," I stop him and push Medic to the side so we can leave. 

One of them grabs onto my arm. "Two AM, lower deck, no firearms."

Engie pushes him away from me. "It's rude to touch a woman like that, so I'd watch your hands, boy."

Medic and Heavy act as shields between our group and theirs, herding us out the doors we came through. They watch us leave. "And bring friends, not a party without friends."

"Don't tell me you're crazy enough to go out at that time of night," Engie asks as we get back to the stairs and stand behind the door to deliberate. 

"Yes, I am," I lean my back against the wall. "If they're going to try and kill us while we're there, that means we have equal opportunity to kill them. You're free to come if you're so worried about me."

"Not Engie," Miss Pauling answers for him.

"Can't," he stalely puts. "I've got science homework, and it's a school night anyway. Would if I could."

My phone starts to ring, and I take it out of my purse, slightly confused. Is this a satellite phone? "Uh, Fredrickson?"

"Lass," Demo sounds fuzzy. "We've found them."

I lift my eyebrows. "That was quick." Miss Pauling has me bend as she pulls me down by my shoulder so she can put her ear to the phone as well. "Where are you guys?"

"Wandering upper deck."

"Any security detail?" Miss Pauling pulls the microphone closer to her.

"Naw, nae obvious anes. Jeremy an' Jane are with me."

"Put them on," I eagerly blurt and take the phone back from Miss Pauling. The two of them argue a bit before confirming their presence. "Okay, guys, I have a proposition for you. How does knocking a couple of heads around sound?"


	25. Twenty-Five: Verbal Gymnastics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Engie)
> 
> I couldn't help but feel like it was my fault. She was shot for God's sake, how could it not be my fault? And she's sittin' there talkin' like it ain't no thing about how she could've died back at the Vanguard base and chalked up her livin' right now to "Dumb luck." It can't NOT be my fault. And Scout and 'em making it any easier on Accomplice with his poking and prodding and everyone else just letting it happen... Myself included. Medic suggested I be the one to help her get accustomed to the job since I was already doin' that back when she was a fresh new face. Can't be too difficult, can it? She might not like me too much since she brought up Sniper and I showing up to her home unannounced, but I'll do what I can to at least make her comfy. She's different than the rest of the team. Treats everyone with kindness, probably more than what we deserve as a hoard of nuisances. I've-- I've been talking too much, haven't I? Ah, I'll go sit back down now.

Scout frowns at me as he sits on the lounging chair across from me. "No bikini?" He points to my orange sundress.

I look at his hoodie. "No bare chest display?" He turns his hat backward and blows a bubble of gum, popping it with furrowed brows. I shrug at him. "Can't win them all."

"You don't need a bikini to look good, Accomplice," Engie says, sitting next to me as he scribbles away on a notepad. He looks up and over at me. "You don't."

"Aw, thank you."

"Subtle," Scout sarcastically says. He leans back and starts to bounce his leg. "So, what's the plan for tonight?"

I survey the area to make sure no one is around. "I'd be able to tell you if Soldier and Heavy were here like we told them to be." 

"Yeah, Sniper is also with them if I remember. I think they said they went to go test somethin'," Scout dismisses. Demo, Spy, and Miss Pauling join us poolside under the cabana. He points to her dress. "Hey, Miss Pau--"

"Scout." She takes a deep breath and lets it go. "Just, no. How's your speech going, Engie?"

"Quick, Scout, spell 'necessary.'" All eyes fall on Scout, and he crosses his arms, a look of disappointment directed toward Engie. The older man then looks at Miss Pauling. "Like that."

"It's only been three hours- Engie, dear- don't beat yourself up too much," I bump his shoulder with my own. Spy sits next to me and Demo sits next to Scout, Miss Pauling farthest from the Bostonian. "We'll just have to kill time until the rest of our members show up. Maybe they're following a lead, I don't know."

"You should," Miss Pauling pushes up her glasses. "Knowing where all of your pawns are is essential. I'm not going to act like I'm better informed but it's just a heads-up for future ops."

Spy leans over his lap and lights a cigarette. "There is something that has been on my mind." I turn to him and fold my hands in my lap. "How did you make it out of Vanguard alive?"

"Ahrm," I hesitate and stretch my arms out, groaning in the process as I look to the sky. "Stupid luck."

"Besides that," he pushes, squinting at his cigarette. "Although I have stated many times that I am rather impressed with how well acquainted you are with the art of impromptu, I am still rather baffled as to how you survived and are still... in... tact."

Spy slows his speech as an accordion plays behind him, Medic playing a jaunty folk tune. He stands behind the Frenchman and plays with a smile and his eyes closed, stopping once he's gotten the point that he's present across. "I'd also like that answer. I asked about your scars earlier." 

There's no point in dancing around it. "I killed a guy, and I got shot three times."

Miss Pauling flattens out her skirt calmly as the others go through the motions of a reaction, each taking to this at varying degrees. Engie sets aside his pad and pencil. "You... You were shot?"

"Three times," I repeat with a nod as I check everyone else to try and understand what they're thinking. Engie looks hurt and guilt-ridden. I frown and try to reassure him. "It's not, it's not your fault, though." Engie's thumb taps the back on my hand at my side, grabbing onto it and squeezing. "It's not your fault."

"Tell me the layout?" Medic follows up interested, resting his hands on his instrument that's hanging around his neck by a strap. 

"Twice in my stomach and once in my back." my knuckle pops from how tightly Engie is holding onto me. I squeeze back as I feel a burn in my back. "Dumb luck, that's how I got out."

"I'm kinda questioning how you guys left without her in the first place," Miss Pauling pipes up, flattened eyebrows. 

"Two vehicles and no communication. We easily mistook it as the other having her in it," Medic casually tells. Slightly disheartening, but what with all of the chaos and the fact that I told them to not wait up for me, it's valid reasoning. "I'm sure you have questions of your own that need answers, Miss Fredrickson?"

I nod, Engie reluctantly retracting his hand as he felt it weird to keep it there. I pick at the folds in my skirt. "The one I've spent a lot of time on is 'why did the bomb go off prematurely?'"

"I dinnae ken, lass," Demo rubs the back of his neck. "It might've been a gas leak, but we'll never ken for sure. I didn't set it tae go like that, it just bloody went and but."

"What were you doing while you were gone?" Scout gives me a hardened expression. "Y'know, during the month we thought you were frickin' dead?"

" _Scout._ " Spy reprimands him. _"Montrer du respect."_

"What? Am I not allowed to know?"

"No," I state. I draw my hands in and hold myself around my stomach.

"Tch, I mean, I just thought we'd be owed an explanation on why we were led on for so long when we were sitting around wondering if we killed someone who didn't need killing." Scout fumes and I cross my arms. "Might as well since we're answering questions and all that. Why did ya do that?"

"Fredrickson can give you as little information as she wishes, she owes you nothing." Miss Pauling points at him. "Next question."

"How did George even know about our plan to be able to trap us in such a way?" Spy distracts us from the divide. "He knew nothing about my ruse and nothing about our chance meeting."

"Might've been Maeve," I suggest. "I let it slip a little, but I told her not to worry about it. She must've told her dad when the night watchman noticed I wasn't with her."

"And I apologize for that," Engie lifts his hand, somber. "I was the one who told you that she wasn't much of an issue."

"Who's the medic that healed you?" Medic starts to play his accordion again but with a more mellow, improvised tune. "The scarring was barely noticeable at first, and I'm quite impressed."

"It was Neuro," Miss Pauling answers.

"Oh, _Liebe,_ Neuro," Medic chirps as he drags out a note, furrowing his brows in confusion. _"Wait, if Neuro healed you..."_

I don't remember much after Miss Pauling found me aside from the fact that I kept hallucinating that our esteemed healer was with us the entire time. I can't pinpoint why that was as maybe it was some sort of metaphor that my mind was dragging out. He was the first face I saw when I woke up from being dead, and I suppose I was making him out to be the last as well. I didn't imagine him anymore when I came to after what Miss Pauling said was a three-day coma. Neuro isn't a name or an alias I'm able to match a face with, and I never got to thank her for what she did. 

"How did you guys find us?" I turn to Demo and Spy. "I mean, you guys weren't captured nor killed, and we were apparently on the train for three days or something."

"There's some misinformation in your statement," Medic lifts his instrument to readjust the strap around his neck. "We were on the train for just the one day that I was finally allowed to do something about your _die Zwangslage_. They spent the previous two days scavenging and ransacking our beloved fort for our tools and secrets and whatnot that pertained to their objective."

"We had escaped with the calamity that Demoman and Pyro had created for us. I collected Sniper after you and Medic left the clinic--" Spy starts his explanation but I interrupt. 

"So you were just watching?" 

"Frenchie's like a fly on the wall. He just watches," Scout blows another bubble and pops it, still having a spoiled look toward me.

Spy blows smoke. "I carried him down to the loading dock where we then regrouped in Engineer's garage until I made the decision for us to go the Vanguard base and infiltrate. We did not think they would remain at our fort for so long. Demoman and I were former Vanguard operatives as well, so we knew to go to the boiler room for privacy. Their location is not that far from ours, a ten-hour drive by van. We started to plan the moment we got there and set it into motion once we heard of your arrival."

"Of course, things didnae go all tekul like we hoped," Demo admits. "It's bloody barry now, though. We're here."

_"And to think if we weren't,"_ Scout mutters under his breath. "Come on, was a phone call that bad?"

"Ugh, Scout," Miss Pauling grunts. "Let it go, it's not that important to you."

"No it clearly is of great importance to him, but he's gotta put his priorities elsewhere," Engie adds and picks up his notepad. "You're being a bit of what we call a 'dick,' Scout."

"I think I'm allowed to know."

"You're not, though," I defend myself.

"We work together."

"And?" I scoff. Medic starts to play a song on his accordion to try and stop our argument, but we keep going.

Scout sits up and points at me. "We were sitting around on our asses for a whole month thinking that we fucked up big time."

"I understand that, but--"

Medic plays more aggressively. "We come to find out later that you were back to living life normally, not a single care about us."

"It's nae aboot us!" Demo yells.

"Okay, yes, but--"

"You wanna know so bad, Scout?" I ask, annoyed, and with varying degrees of seriousness. My scars burn.

"Yeah, I do! Who just fucking _does_ that, huh? 'Oh yeah, I'm _Accomplice_ , let me just _fail_ to keep my teammates updated on the little known fact of whether or not I'm _alive_ for a month and get Miss Pauling to lie for me.'"

"Scout, you're being insensitive," Miss Pauling grits, and Medic gives up on trying to steer us away from the topic. 

"I'm not, we talk about this shit all the time," he justifies his actions. 

Engie grumbles. "Scout, we've been doing this for six years and beyond, some of us our whole lives, and she's only been here for, what? Two and a half months? Give her a damn break, son."

"She's only done stuff with us for just one! What happened to being held accountable for our actions?"

"Did we ever find out why those three BLU mercenaries were outside the fort and why the piece of paper inside the drone said chloroform on it?" I blurt and block Scout's assault. 

"Well, chloroform is a solvent of sorts, and the notes they left in the basement implied they were looking for a way to refine our Australium. They probably were getting information from an outside source and just so happened upon us to send a message of some kind," Engie reports in a calmer voice.

"See, even the BLUs know to send a message," Scout fires.

"I was trying to forget that any and all of you existed, that's where I was," I say, heated. "I have three brothers that I need to take care of, and I almost died, like, three times I was there and legitimately died once. They don't know I took on this job, they only know that I'm big sister Mona: the waitress with crippling debt. How do you explain to them that I died? Not even mentioning any of you, how do you tell them that a waitress in her thirties just _died_ _?_ " He diverts his gaze. "They rely on _me_ for everything, Scout. They're _my_ responsibility. They are what _I'm_ accountable for. Me dying would be them dying as well, just a whole hell of a lot slower. It's just me and them, no one else but the four of us struggling together."

He fails to look at me again once I'm done talking, and I stare at him. He's hoping we drop the subject. "Does that answer your question?"

"No," he whispers, crossing his arms. His face turns a shade of red. "Still don't know why you couldn't--"

I start to stand up. "Oh my God."

"--Couldn't just pick up a fucking phone and say 'hey I'm here, but I'm not coming back!'"

"Oh, hmm, ever think about how _the second_ Miss Pauling told you about that, that Spy literally showed up to my workplace the _following_ morning?" His eye twitches and I look down at Spy as I stand who lowers his head. "Or how that following week I walk into my own home and see Engineer and Sniper just _standing_ in it?" Engie shies away when I look down at him. I poke Scout's forehead, and he throws up his hands defensively as our eyes meet. "Or how you all showed up to my workplace as a band of crazies like this is a normal thing people do, like this wasn't _borderline_ stalker behavior?"

"You're doing everything but answering my question," he stands up to have me back down to his height.

"Miss Pauling told you I wasn't going to come back and the first thing you guys did was start to intrude on my life to get me to stay," I frantically sputter. "I didn't call because I didn't want to be bothered. Low-and-behold, I get bothered anyway."

I know the real reason why they did what they did, so this is extremely pointless. My life quite literally depends on this job, and they were just jumping in to try and save it, but at the same time, before I knew, they didn't let up at all. Would they have just let me be killed by the Administrator otherwise? Do they actually care, or is this some favor that they're doing Miss Pauling? Scout looks as though he might break the floodgates and turn our spitting match into a physical altercation, but he backs down and sits once more. I walk off, feeling as though I might just start rattling off anything and everything to get this orb of discomfort out of my stomach. Medic starts to play another Germanic folk song off in the distance when I get to the railing and look out onto the water, millions of thoughts running me by at once. I feel sick. Footsteps stop short behind me, and I can only assume it's Engie from the distinct sounds that the heels on cowboy boots make. He comes next to me, and I sigh.

"Talk about anything other than what just happened right now."

"Alright..." He slides his hands into his pockets and puffs out his lips slightly. "This might be a bad time, but I wanna ask ya something."

"What about?"

"The contract," he takes his hands out of his pockets. 

I turn inward to him to make eye-contact. "Something wrong?"

"Nope, just peachy, dear," he smiles hesitantly and is fidgety with his hands, bringing his head back and shrinking his presence. "But, there's the conference and everything, and I was wonderin' if you would go?"

A grin forces its way onto my face. "Engie, I _have_ to go, we have people to kill."

"No no, I get that." He balls his hands into fists and gently hits them against each other before pointing his index fingers together. "To specify wou-would you go... With me, Accomplice?"

"What do you-- What do you mean?" I tap my toe on the ground, feeling like I might be picking up on incorrect messages. 

"Y'know, go with me," he repeats, getting quieter with each word he speaks. "Like we'd be introduced together when we're doing a bit of socializing at the conference, and you'd stand next to me all the time..."

"Like a date?" I lift an eyebrow, sure that I'm perceiving this wrong.

"You don't gotta go around callin' it that if you don't want to," he's quick to refute. "I just get a little nervous, and it's nice knowing that there's someone I trust around me."

"Because I'd have to stand next to you while you give your address, too, right?" I connect the dots, a tinge of nervousness seeping into my stomach but relief pouring over me at the same time. I came here to work, and any romance would get in the way. Not that I'd think he's trying to romance me, but I passively promised myself I'd fish myself out of debt before I think about perusing a relationship. I made that notion when I was seventeen. "A little bit of nerves is always alright, especially when you're about to do public speaking. It keeps you grounded, but if you think that having someone familiar nearby will help your confidence, then I'd be honored to go with you, Engie."

"Really?" He humbly asks.

I softly smile at him and fix his cowboy hat. "Yes, really. I'm here to help, that's what I do. And like I said earlier: I'm more than willing to help you with the script if you need it."

"You'll never _bloody_ believe what I just saw," Sniper rapidly approaches behind me, and I turn to face him. "Soldier and Heavy got thrown into boat jail."

"Isn't that called the brig?" Engie loosens up and goes back to his typical demeanor. 

"Eh, 'ell if I know," Sniper shrugs and takes off his glasses to look at the lenses. I take them from him and start cleaning them on the edge of my dress as he continues talking. "He took a bloody swing at someone who was following us around. We were just walking aimlessly for a while to check that the blokes were actually trailing after us, and Soldier went to go fight them as soon as we spotted the little tacker in the main lobby with us on our third time getting there. Get this: they're also crewmembers on the ship, so they just had him locked up to deal with later. Heavy also took a swing or two but missed on purpose just so then he wouldn't be there alone."

"Dammit," I groan and put my hand to my forehead. "Those two were supposed to go with me tonight."

"Go where?" Sniper takes his sunglasses back from me. "Thanks, Luv."

"Let's go have a chat as a team before I get into that so we're all on the same page," I gesture to the cabana, Medic still playing music that's unsolicited but not awful in any sense of the word. He's a very talented musician, far more than what I thought. I didn't even know he played anything until now. He watches the three of us as we come back to the group. Sniper takes my spot, and Engie stands behind me as I keep my distance. "Soldier and Heavy got thrown into the brig, and I was planning on bringing them to the deck with me to confront the Baileys."

"You've still got me," Scout talks to the ground. 

"I can fill in for one of 'em, Accomplice," Sniper offers.

"They said no guns, and your rifle would make a lot of noise," I dispute, rubbing the side of my arm. 

He checks his watch. "Didn't think you'd forget that I know my way around a knife." 

"Ah-" I swat a mosquito away. "Right, that."

"If you could take a minute to listen to some input, from one Miss to another-" Miss Pauling holds her chin in between her thumb and her index finger, "I'd suggest you don't go. Normally, I'd be all for you going, but with Soldier and Heavy being involuntarily benched and as our best melee combatants, you shouldn't. Of course, it's your call, but that's my directive. At the very least don't take Scout, I'd have grounded him by now."

"The Administrator said I'm here as a mercenary instead of team leader."

"There have been many times where I have assumed status as leader... It goes hand in hand," Spy inserts and blows smoke. "Backing off, as hard as a decision as it may be to make, is always open."

"Well... I'm willing to take Scout if he's all right with letting bygones be bygones," I clarify. He scoffs, mumbling curses to the state of Florida. "And none of you other gentlemen are fond of hand-to-hand?" 

"That is the last resort for me and Demoman without the proper equipment," Spy speaks, flipping a butterfly knife to show it off before stashing it away. "I must wait for my cloaking abilities to come back as well. My watch is not meant to be used for extended intervals like it was yesterday. It is burnt out at the current moment."

"I'll take a gander at it later, but I know for a fact I won't get it fixed tonight, Spy," Engie inputs and steps forward to stand in between me and Medic.

I glance at Medic, and he lids his eyes while meeting my gaze. He peels his eyes away and stares at the ground. _"Meine Dienste beinhalten keine solchen barbarischen Handlungen, bitte sieh mich nicht so an, wie du jetzt bist, Komplizin."_

"Taking that as a no," I ball my fists. "Do you think Pyro would be willing?"

"More than," Miss Pauling asserts. "Sniper and Pyro are an unlikely team, but that combo gives me some comfort. You and I are going to have to have to break our mercenaries out of the brig tomorrow. Let's use these remaining hours to try and dissect the anatomy of the crew before you make your final judgment." Her eyes dart to Medic. "We're not cutting into them."

"And to think you'd expect such out of me!" He growls. "You'd be absolutely correct, but still, I know how English euphemisms work."

"That wasn't a _euphemism_ and more just a _flavorful hyperbole,_ " Engie informs under his breath.

"You don't even have a lab to do experiments in, Medic," she counters. 

"I thought we established that he can work wherever," Demo injects.

"He's right, I can," Medic proudly confirms with a grin. 

Miss Pauling blinks at him. "Go back to playing your accordion."

"Squeezebox."

" _Just play it,_ " she whispers, and he begins to move his fingers. "While we're all in one place like this, we should head over to go get some dinner. It'll be easier to prepare a game plan for the conference night once we've had something to eat. Isn't that right, Engie?"

He shrugs. "I guess. Maybe listening to y'all bicker during supper will force me to get somethin' written."

"Assuming that Scout's going to talk to me at all for the rest of the night," I playfully chime, a forced and nuanced simper about me. Scout turns his nose up at me and gets up to start walking. He just barely refrains from bumping me to the side with his shoulder, and I ditch the persona once he goes. I feel like I'm the new girl at the fort once again. I wouldn't be too far off, I'm still the most expendable one out of the team given that I'm the one who's been here the shortest.


	26. Twenty-Six: Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Pyro)
> 
> :(

It's quiet, faint music and people laughing come from the upper decks. Pyro breathes through his mask and his boots squeak as he walks behind me, Sniper trailing even farther behind. The air is humid and my skin is damp with sweat, baby hairs sticking to my forehead. Water rushing fills my ears but clears my thoughts as we approach the two brothers that stand at the farthest edge at the bow. I stop just a few yards before them and take the time to tie my hair back into a semi-tight bun, unsure of how this is going to play out. One of the brothers leans his back on the railing and the other sits on the edge of a lounging chair he pulled up for himself. Pyro stands next to me, holding his fire ax in both hands and Sniper unsheathes his own knife.

_"It's called a kukri,"_ he said while I stood in his room and waited for Pyro to join us. Scout refused to talk to me as he sat on his own bed, angrily reading a comic book. _"It's a Nepali machete."_

"Was thinking you weren't going to show," the one on the chair yawns as he stands up, picking up a metal pipe from beside him. "And you _did_ bring friends. Nice. Would've been kinda lame if we just pummeled a tiny little woman down by herself."

"I'll have you know that I took on both a heavy and a soldier by myself before I also beat up on your sister," I quietly tell, trying to play myself up to gain a shred of confidence. "We're going to kill you, and then we're going to kill the Peytons."

"Hey, one step at a time," the unarmed one joins his brother. "Let's get this out of the way first."

"Before we quit piss-farting around," Sniper holds his arm in front of Pyro to keep him in place for a moment longer, "what class are you? Only a bogan doesn't let a bloke know about his adversary."

The one with the pipe laughs and checks his watch. "Spy."

"Crikey," Sniper whispers as they vanish. "Accomplice, o'er here!" I come near the two, and we all turn our backs to each other, Sniper having us move slowly around like a pinwheel. "Spies favor backstabbing since you don't see it coming, so we might as well eliminate that avenue."

"Doesn't mean that you're _safe._ " One of them taunts, Pyro taking a downward swing where their voice came from. The slight break in our formation gives enough room for one of them to push Sniper away and separate us. He takes a swing with his knife, the unarmed brother becoming visible again and stumbling back, holding a long scratch on his chest. 

"Come 'ere ya mongrel," he grins, advancing to him, I turn my attention to Pyro and try to keep an eye out for any disturbances, unsure if that'll do me any good. I'm pulled back by a pole around my neck, pushing against it with my hands to keep my airways open. Pyro follows, raising his ax and looking for an opportune time to swing. I look at the reflection coming off of the glass where his eyes are and try to telepathically communicate my next move. I'm yanked over to the railing, an elbow burrowing into my spine to press me against the metal barrier. I look down into the dark abyss, moonlight barely illuminating the side of the ship and the long drop should I fall over. I see Sniper out of the corner of my eye coming up, so I turn rapidly and deck him in the jaw which causes him to drop his pipe.

He vanishes and tackles me, pulling out a knife of his own and rushing it toward my neck. I cry out, Sniper's face and the deafening ringing of the fort alarms presented in front of me. Sniper whacks him over the head with the pipe he dropped, the spy out cold. 

He hands me the pipe after Pyro helps me up, and we resume our pinwheel formation. My chest tightens as the Aussie turns and scans me for a split second. The air shifts, but I don't act upon it in the event I'm simply picking up on a lowly breeze. Pyro breathes gently and taps his fingers against the wooden handle of the ax. Sniper grumbles. "All spies are just phony scoundrels, backstabbing frauds."

_"Hur, mmfur-puhpheh,"_ Pyro adds, sighing. 

Sniper hums. "Round and round we go, where his bloody head will land, no one knows."

Pyro shoots out his ax sideways and I follow up with an impulsive swing, hitting the spy in the arm. He heaves, pulling a kitchen knife out of his pocket of all places and charging at me. I sidestep and he rushes Sniper instead, pinning him to the barrier. They struggle as Sniper pushes back on him, and Pyro runs up behind them. He gets smacked away immediately. Sniper leans backward, keeping his balance by using his free hand to tightly grip the bar. I muster all of the momenta I can and fling my arms to the side, getting the most bang for my buck and helping Sniper regain his bearings as the brother receives a pole to the neck with a chilling _crunch!_ The cylinder flies out of my hand and into the great open, Pyro and I glancing at each other which the same idea. Pyro picks him up by the back of his shirt, and I lift his legs over my shoulders, bringing him to the edge.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, hey!" He struggles in our grip, "Why- wh-why not just kill me?"

"What's the matter, can't swim?" I ask rhetorically, digging my fingernails into his calves. 

"Listen, hey, don't you hate killing people?" He frantically pants. "You _hate_ killing people, this would be you killing me, c'mon, Mona!"

"That's Miss Fredrickson to you, and you're not dead. _Yet_ ," I reason. "I'm not killing you, the impact of you hitting the water is. Even then, if you do survive, it could be drowning or whatever creature happens upon you at this time of night that does it. I'm more afraid of house foreclosure and the IRS than you."

"Don't worry you piker," Sniper brightly retorts. "I hear that the gulf is home to lots of lovely kinds of sharks. It'll probably be quick for you, hear they like fresh chum. That wound on your chest is defo a bloody dead giveaway, mate."

"I can, I can tell you things! Give you stuff! Just, just, just not the ocean, I swear," he pleads as Pyro puts his arms around his waist to help me with his weight. 

"Whaddya got?" I question. "Make it quick, or else my grip just might slip. I _am_ just a tiny woman after all."

"A tiny _little_ woman," Sniper corrects.

"Yeah, sorry. A tiny little woman with bars of soap for hands."

"Okay, okay! Your friends in the brig? They're going to be killed tomorrow at the end of the day after the Peytons use enhanced interrogation." He breaks immediately.

"Torture," Sniper replaces his words. 

"Why would they need to be tortured?" I continue our own enhanced interrogation.

"I don't know, those guys are sick fucks! They already thought it a good idea to double-cross Helen, I think they're just insane, now put me down!" 

I glance at Sniper and his eyes dart to the water for a split second before back at me, widening with raised eyebrows. "Anything else you got for us, wanker?"

"No! That's all I have, I swear!"

_"Mrr-hmmph huh heh puddah hah,"_ Pyro says with varying degrees of anger. 

"Pyro's right," Sniper crosses his arms. "So you just weren't gonna tell us about the undercover mercenaries that are on your crew?"

He shakes his head. I roll my eyes. "Alright, it looks to be the trenches for you, bud."

"No no no no no no-- _!"_ He caterwauls as we swing him over the railing, and his head hits the bow as he goes down rendering him silent. He's too small to make a _splash_ or a _splat_ like expected, but he's at least out of the way. We look over to where the other brother would've been had we killed him. He's gone.

"Let's not linger for too long," I suggest, picking up Pyro's fire ax and handing it back to him. Pyro runs ahead of us to check out the lobby, Sniper and I walking back without much haste as people gather to the railings of the upper decks to check down below. 

"Sheila," he starts, "we've gotta talk about it."

"It?"

_"_ _It."_ He looks down at me. "You're obviously not over a lot of things like you say you are."

"If you're talking about what happened with Scout," I sigh, "that doesn't mean I'm not over it. I'm allowed my privacy, and he was trying to pry it out of my hands."

"Luv, there's a difference between keeping things private and bottlin' up your troubles," he fixes the collar on his polo shirt. "You deflect."

"No, I don't," I weakly argue. "I just like to have my private stuff private."

"You did it when we were at the market, you did it to Engie when we came back, you did it to me again when we were at the fort before we left, and Scout told me you did it for a great bit before you exploded on 'im," he lists my previous incidents. "Luv, you're not alright, so stop acting like you are."

"But I am," I huff. "If I wasn't I wouldn't have come back to you guys." He's beginning to get on my nerves. "I don't want to talk about it, so we're not going to talk about it. You can't make me."

"You said it yourself: you need the money. You're here because you have to be, not because you want to be."

"And you guys _want_ to be here?" I counter.

"If we didn't we'd be retired. I've been doing this snipin' thing for over two decades, only just nine years ago did I start doing it to people. With how many jobs I've been given, I have enough to send my parents into retirement _and_ cover the costs for both of them to sleep in Sydney when the time comes, still 'aving thousands in the bank for later. We're doing this because we want to, Luv, trust me on that one. 

"You, on the other hand, aren't very complacent with the work and the people around ya. It's not too difficult to guess what you saw when that spy was hanging over you like that. You don't gotta be 'appy about it, but you gotta be okay. And I know you're not okay."

I take a deep breath. "That's what you think."

"That's what I know," he interrupts. "I'm not the best at expressing or picking up on emotions, but all of us on the team are able to sense what's inside you." He stands in front of me and leans over to whisper in my ear, a finger forcefully pressing down on my chest. "Fear."

I side-step around him. "Again, that's what you think. I don't fear you or anything. If I did, why would I bring the two people who did stuff to me with me?"

"Deductive reasoning. We're the most lethal to you, so it only makes sense."

We make it to the opening with Pyro, and I look up at him. "I'm not afraid of you, and the two of you were the only ones available. Heavy and Soldier were originally my first picks."

"Which proves my point further."

"Now you're just reaching, Sniper. I don't fear you, you're not a threat to m--" He grabs me by the collar and pushes me up against the wall near the opening, lifting me off of my feet. He pulls out his knife and holds the tip to my neck. My body shivers. "Sniper, stop it!" I beg and use all of the strength I can muster to push his hand away, trying to wriggle out of his grip. He stares at me long and hard, observing me as I struggle and whimper to keep the knife away from my skin.

"How about now, Freddie?" He asks in my ear, quiet and meditated. "You afraid of me? Am I a threat?"

"I'm serious, please, stop it!" My fingernails dig into his wrist, but he maintains his stance. My eyes burn with tears. "Sniper."

"You wanna know the funny thing?" His lips graze against my ear. "I'm not even pushing against you."

"Yes, you are!" My hands shake.

"Stop fighting, Freddie," he urges.

I huff. "No, you're crazy, stop it."

"Then why isn't Pyro helping you?" He releases me for a short moment before forcing me against the wall again. I sob and keep my hands on his. "You're still afraid of me."

"No, I'm not," I claim, shooting my hand out to his neck. He stumbles back and watches me fall to the floor, tears dripping from my eyes and onto my arms. Sniper reaches out to help me, but I swat him away, laying on my side and refraining from crying. "I'm not- I'm not afraid of you."

"Look at you!" He yells. "You stupid fucking Sheila! You're laying on the floor and _weeping_ and _wailing_ and you wanna tell me that you're not _bloody_ afraid of me?"

"I'm not," I sniff.

"Like hell you aren't! Do you hear yourself, Freddie?"

I cough. "I hear that you don't scare me. This is only happening because I don't like being grabbed and thrown against a wall to--"

" _Holy **Dooley!**_ " He exults. "You're one massive galah." He offers to help me up again, and I decline again to get up alone, holding myself and walking back inside. He catches up to me as I wipe my face. "Freddie--"

"Don't touch me," I order as I keep my distance from him.

He puts his hand on my shoulder and I keep taking steps away from him. "Freddie--"

"Stop calling me Freddie, stop touching me!" I push him away and keep pressing onward. He grabs onto my shoulders, and I grunt as I thrash in his grip that tightens on my arms. "St-Stop it! Get your hands off- Get off of me!"

I slap him, his glasses falling to the floor. _"Ah, you fuckin' wanker, shit!"_ I breathe heavily, glancing around at the lobby at the spectators. Pyro takes my hand and leads me away as Sniper follows. "Fre--"

"I'm willing to forget that happened if you are," I propose. "It's better that way." A woman stares unapologetically as she walks by.

"But it isn't, Freddie," he sighs as we start heading to our cabins. Pyro trails behind to stay uninvolved. "That's something you and I have to work out together."

"It doesn't exist if we just both _forget_ about it." I stop in front of my room, Pyro ducking into his. Sniper and I both stare at each other, my eyes and cheeks still feeling warm. We seem to be studying one another, almost, as I notice the scar on his left cheek. "I- I'm sorry for hitting you. Goodnight, Mr. Mundy."

He boxes me in by putting his hands on my shoulders. "Promise me we're going to talk about it at the fort."

"What are you, a shrink?"

"I'm a dag when it comes to this sort of thing, Freddie, anything but ace. But you 'n I have gotta work this out. Don't think of yourself as a sunshine just because you've gotta talk about things. Especially considering we kill for a paycheck, you can't be carryin' baggage like this. It eats at you, and you need a clear mind for this." I sniff and look down to the floor to avoid his gaze. "Promise me."

"Jeez, stop calling me 'Freddie.' Stop touching me." I puff and back up.

"Mona, li--"

"Don't _'Mona'_ me!" I shove him away again as his hand almost touches my cheek. 

"Ah, what is the issue?" Medic opens his door and looks at the two of us standing in the hallway. Engie stands behind him in their room, observing us from afar. 

"Miss Fredrickson and I were-" His hand finds its way to my waist and elbow him as hard as I can.

"Turning in for the night," I finalize while avoiding their eyes. "Goodnight."

"Oh... _Gute Nacht_ , then, I suppose," Medic curiously inputs.

"G'night, Miss Fredrickson." I close the door and lock it, sighing and turning around to see Miss Pauling sitting on her bed in her pajamas and organizing files. She picks up a cup of coffee and knowingly acknowledges me for a moment before picking up a stack of papers.

"Did you get them?"

"One of them, the other escaped," I report, keeping my back to her as I pull out my suitcase from under my bed. "Learned that we're going to have to get Soldier and Heavy out of the brig before the day is out, and they're going to be subject to torture. The earlier the better."

"Well, it'll be me and you when the sun rises, which is in three or four hours," she says. I check the clock on my nightstand. It's fifteen minutes until three AM. "You ever steal from anyone?"

My brain chugs for a moment. "Are we stealing from people tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Why?" 

"The keys to the brig aren't just going to _give_ themselves to us, Fredrickson." She starts to put her papers away. "And you never answered my question."

"I mean, yes, I have," I admit, ashamed. "I just didn't think I'd need to dust off those skills."

"Whatever under-the-table skills you have are guaranteed to prove useful. That includes lying, stealing, pickpocketing, signature forgery, and- oddly enough- gambling. You might not have all of those skills, but I do. We should head to bed, though. I was just waiting to make sure you came back alright."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie. She sighs.

"We all know you're not, but if you say so." She stands up and uses the bathroom first to brush her teeth, and I quickly change to use the bathroom after her. Settling down for the night is taking longer than I expected. I can't sleep, my mind stuck on Sniper. Lying is one thing, and acting another. I'm one hell of a bad actress. Not even a second after he grabbed me, the tears started rolling. Sometimes, I can't do anything but pity myself. Thirty-one years old and my life is in _shambles._ I can't even seem to be doing my job right. I came in bright-eyed and with a purpose, eager to help these men however I can with their work because I had illustrated a caricature of what Miss Pauling's duties are. Four months of training wasn't enough to compensate for the transition I made from organizing papers, and I should've seen that long before hindsight became applicable. All we did during that time was dispose of bodies, and that helps me close to none. I have little to no management skills when it comes to coordinating hits, I refuse to kill people, I can't even shoot a gun accurately... Why did Miss Pauling give the Administrator the greenlight?

Before I knew it, the sun was rising and I have gotten, at the very least, two hours of sleep. It's better than nothing as we only started with about four possible hours of rest. The boat horn blares for an unknown reason, and we rise from bed, getting ready to perform a jailbreak. We both dress lightly, me a pale yellow romper that stops midway down my thighs- putting my bathing suit under as I heard Demo mention something important about the pool that I absently agreed to go to with him for- and Miss Pauling a purple knee-length skirt and a white button-up shirt. I pick up my purse, double-checking that I have my gear with me. My phone, files, and apparently I'm being asked to carry a gun again by Miss Pauling. She holds out the firearm that's clipped into a holster. I reluctantly take it from her and put it in my bag. 

We leave our cabin, passing by a group of early-birds in the lobby before going to the other section of cabins, following Miss Pauling's map directory for the service stairwell. She spots a janitor vacuuming the carpet, glancing at me before she walks over to him, pretending to be lost and looking for a specific area. His back is to me, and I eye the keys that are strapped to one of the side loops of his pants. I stroll up, leaning over Miss Pauling's shoulder to make it seem as though I'm listening in, slithering my hand past Miss Pauling's hip and gently pushing the lever of the clip, taking a step to the side and purposefully stumbling into him so the sounds of the metal jangling are more natural. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I giggle as I catch the keys in my palm to stop the noise and put my hand in my pocket. "I just lost my footing,"

"Are you okay?" He asks, holding a hand out as I regain my balance.

"Yes, thank you for asking." I back up and keep my hand in my pocket to hide the foreign object, occupying my other pocket with my other hand. Miss Pauling spots his empty belt, and she asks a few fluff questions, thanking him for his help as we begin in the opposite direction. We move slowly, taking a left and walking to the end of the hall to find the service stairs. I take out the keys and start trying each one with the lock. 

"I've never seen a snatch so invasive," she says, smirking at me. "That was pretty smooth, though."

"Thank you, I learned that in high school," I talk as I work. "I only used it a few times so I could get back confiscated items from the laundromat."

"Laundromat?"

"Old woman lived there, did not like it when we did _anything_ near her business. She'd take footballs, hula-hoops... She took a boy's bike once because he left it near the entrance when he was running to the post office next door to pick up newspapers for his route."

"Any of your things get taken?"

"No. I was one of the older ones, though, so we took care of the younger kids a lot and took most of the blame for our antics. I got caught once or twice with sticky fingers, but never enough to get grounded," I brag a bit as I smile while remembering the first time I had "accidentally" knocked over that lady and taken her keys from her jacket pocket while assisting her in getting to her feet. I'd always put her keys back on this hook in her messy office so we could cover for ourselves and say she's losing a few marbles with each year she's still alive. 

The lock clicks on my fourth try with ten keys left on the ring. I open the door and listen in case of anyone coming up, deeming it clear and slipping inside with Miss Pauling. The ship whirrs louder the further down we go, getting to the very bottom of the stairs and the noise level resting right below the need to wear earplugs. Miss Pauling hands me the map as it's no longer of use down here. The colors around us are dingy and grey and the temperature is toasty. I tie up my hair to keep my ears clear as my hearing is already reduced by the machinery. My partner nods at a directory on a bulletin board and tilts her head down our one available path. The metal grates clunk with each step we take, the vibration of our movement resonating in my ankles. Steam hisses off in the distance, and we back up as crew members walk by with large bins of laundry. I keep my hand on Miss Pauling's shoulder, pulling her over to a lit side room and closing the door that had _**BRIG HOLDING CELLS**_ spelled on the inside. Noises are blocked out in here, and I survey the supply closet shelves.

Cleaning products and complimentary hygiene take up most of the space. Miss Pauling taps my arm and points to another door tucked away in the corner. I follow her, and we walk through the threshold. More air hisses, but there are voices this time, those of our targets and our teammates.


	27. Twenty-Seven: Three Cats and a Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Soldier)
> 
> They'd get nothing out of me, nothing! I have withstood COUNTLESS hours and hours of far worse torture methods in various countries I can't even name! Cutting off my hand is nothing. Oh, to have shown you the look on their face when I laughed as my hand flopped to the floor. It was a glorious sight to see, a true win for America because nothing came of these traitors attempts to rile me up.

Miss Pauling pulls me back into the supply closet, and we hide behind the door as the Peytons approach. They leave with four plain-clothed crew members to protect them, and we slip in after they're gone. Heavy sits on a bench, arms crossed as Soldier tries to reattach his hand to his arm. I stand back in awe as Miss Pauling takes the keys from my purse. Blood spills from Soldier's arm while he keeps pressing his wrist to his forearm, staining his clothes in the process.

"Soldier," I gasp.

"Don't worry, Accomplice, I have dealt with this issue countless times before," he dismisses my concern and holds the bloodied and dismembered hand. "I just stick it back on and it works again. Zhanna and I both have hand issues."

"I don't think--" I stop myself from doubting what this particular group is capable of. "Who's Zhanna?"

"My wife," Soldier answers.

"Not yet," Heavy corrects him. 

"This woman is my wife in my heart, and I am her husband in her heart. You cannot stop love, Heavy."

"American government can because you do not have papers."

"I'll just write them _myself_ with the power vested in me an my legal standing."

"Does Soldier know fraud is crime?" Heavy argues. 

I walk up to the bars. "Cut it out, let's get you guys out of here. What did the Peytons do to you guys? Other than cut your hand off."

"Not much beside try to threaten Heavy," the Russian stands as he waits for Miss Pauling who's going through and trying all of our keys. "I told baby men that I would twist their spines like an animal made of balloons should they ever try to touch Heavy." I grimace as I watch Soldier struggle to reunite his body parts together again. Miss Pauling deters him as he'll only make it worse without the necessary tools, still going through the possible keys. I turn around and walk toward a cluttered desk, unsure of where I should start. Sifting through files and records of unlucky passengers that have spent a night or entire vacation here. I pick up the papers for Heavy and Soldier, Miss Pauling instructing me to take anything relating to them so we can destroy the documents later.

"Any luck with the lock?" I ask Miss Pauling, rummaging through the drawers next. 

"No," she groans in frustration. "I mean, these are from a janitor anyway, it was a long shot to think he'd be able to unlock the brig."

Heavy shakes the bars of the gate. "I am not able to break through these."

"Hands up, lady!" A man calls to Miss Pauling who turns and drops the keys as she faces her palms outward. "Trying to break your friends out?" She doesn't answer, not threatened in the slightest. Her eyes remain cold on him, fingers curling as her arms tire. A man walks through, a gun in his own hand, and catches a glimpse of me.

His head is gone.

I take a deep breath, slowly lowering my aim, staring at the red splatter on the wall. There's no way, there's no way that I just merked a man while on autopilot. Miss Pauling kneels down to his body and pats his pockets, obtaining a new keyring and unlocking the gate in a matter of seconds, letting the guys out. Miss Pauling snaps me out of my daze when she throws me our previous pair of keys. "Nice aim, Fredrickson. I'll get rid of him, don't worry. Conference is the day after tomorrow, so make sure Engie and Medic are good to go with their whole speech-thing. You and the guys should also start to talk about what we're going to do about our targets. Go now while it's still early and there aren't many people."

Heavy and Soldier follow me out to the supply closet where I put my gun away, peeking my head out into the noisy hull before beckoning them. If the man is dead and if I was holding the gun, then that means I shot him. I shot him. He's dead because I shot him. Why didn't I have a problem with doing that? I didn't even notice the gun in my hand until it jolted in my grip. Is this it for me? Am I a psychopath mercenary now? Dealing with this situation the same way I've dealt with everything else before now: I'll deal with that later.

We get to the staircase, and I unlock the door, no one around to see us come out of the hull. Soldier doesn't give much effort in hiding the fact he's been mildly dismembered and drenched in blood. I rush us through the lobby, shrouding him from one side while Heavy does the same on his other side, and we shuffle over to our hall, nearly missing a group by a few meters when a small child pointed out Soldier's clothes. I knock on Medic's door, Engie answering and getting pushed aside by Heavy as we pile in.

"A good morning to all of ya, too," he sighs, closing the door behind him. "Mind telling me what y'all-- oh. Hey, Medic..."

He points at Soldier who's still going at it, tracking blood on the carpet. "Oh, _Guten Morgen, Komplizin._ " Medic nudges me aside, coming out of the bathroom with nothing more than a towel around his waist. I turn and face the wall, absolutely shutting down at the mere suggestion that I'll have to relive the suffering I went through with Sniper. The doctor hums. "Yes, this is fixable."

_"Medic, please put pants on before you do anything else,"_ I whisper, strained. I don't think he heard me.

"This will only take a minute, _bi_ _tte setzen sie sich,_ " he says. 

Engie stands next to me. "Problem?"

"No," I unconvincingly chuckle, "just fine. How's your thing going?"

"I've got a draft. Tweaking the wording and length now."

I turn to him and lay my cheek on the wallpaper. "I wanna look over it. Heavy, Medic, I _have_ to look over yours given that English is not your first language."

"It's over there, feel free to browse," Medic says, but I don't know where _'there'_ is. I reluctantly turn around, his hands digging around in what would be a medical ice chest, threading a suture, and sitting on his bed next to Soldier. He takes Soldier's hand from him and glances at me, using the appendage to point to the nightstand in between the two beds. "Right there. I speak near-perfect English, though, so I don't think it's too much of a necessity."

"I think it's more to spice up said English, Doc," Engie sorts through his items as he speaks. "You do have a tendency to use smaller than ideal words."

"I suppose you're correct," he suggests, Soldier watching stone-faced as the needle jabs his skin.

Heavy sits on the long edge of the bed and hands me the papers. My eyes scan the cursive writing. "Wow, I understand none of what you wrote."

"Ya don't hafta, just make sure it sounds coherent _enough."_ Engie disputes.

He watches me put them in my purse. "Accomplice, you speak good English."

"Is that a question or a statem--"

"Will you listen to me give speech?" 

"Don't you have a draft written down, or?" I look behind me and sit across from him on Engie's bed. 

Soldier turns to talk to me, but Medic pokes him to get him to sit still. Engie sits next to me, his work in hand. I add it to the files in my purse. "I'm assuming you can't read Russian. Although extremely intelligent, he's still considered illiterate since he's unable to read and write English."

"I also struggle with speaking, yes," he adds. I dig through my purse and pull out the brochure, listing off names.

"Loc Le, Zenobu Mohammud, Dat Duong, Nambini Ahuja, Hibiki Nakata... I don't think you'd be bashed too hard for not speaking as fluent as a native speaker. Some of these people might also have a translator with them if they don't speak English at all." Medic pokes Soldier again before he's able to open his mouth. Heavy grumbles and crosses his arms. I smile at him. "You'll be fine. I'll still listen to you, though, if you want to practice delivery at the very least, hun."

I wasn't able to catch myself before I called him 'hun,' but he looks pleased with my final decision and rests his hands on his lap. Engie taps my arm. "We should get going, Accomplice. We promised we'd meet Demo and Scout by the pool since Renard is going to be there."

I nod. "Right, right. Are you coming, Heavy?"

"Miss Pauling said team should talk strategy," he notes. "Heavy will travel with Doctor when he is done fixing patriotic donkey."

"Listen, Commie," Soldier growls.

Medic holds the needle to his neck. _"Hör auf, hör auf dich zu bewegen."_

I stand up. "Hey, calm down... And put on some pants, please. C'mon Engie." He stands up and lets me walk first, following me out into the hallways and closing the door behind us. We walk side by side. "Have you eaten?"

"Nope, you?" He asks back. I shake my head. "I don't think they'll mind too much if we go and grab a bite to eat first."

"Well, I mean," I start, "we should get there as soon as possible." A family passes by my other side.

"Tavish has Miss Pauling's phone, so he'll just ring ya up should anything happen. I already know you didn't get much sleep what with your late-night shindig and you and Miss Pauling getting our friends out of the brig so don't start cutting meals, too, Miss Fredrickson."

"I had dinner last night, Dell, don't blow this out of proportion," I counter.

"This kind of work is stressful, so I just don't want you slipping so early. Not that there's an ideal time to do said slippin', but I'm just looking out for ya."

He pats my shoulder and smiles gently with a simple stretch of his lips. I smile back and shift my bangs on my forehead. My eyelids are hefty and my heart is hollow. A man is dead today because of me. I place my hand over his, and he stops in his tracks. The lobby is bustling, people crowding around an information desk as there are four ship members trying to pass on information, starting and restarting sentences as more and more attention gets drawn in their direction. Engie eyes a sign, and I do too. I whimper. "You can't be serious."

"You know what this means, right?" Engie asks.

"More witnesses," I say.

"And more opportunities for 'em to escape." He stares at the sign.

** <RSVP FORMAL SEPT. 23, 9 PM -MIDNIGHT> **

"Yeah, but that also means a few of your mates 'ave got your back," Sniper adds as he and Spy join us after emerging from the crowd. "Got two tickets for me and Jeremy since Spy can sneak in and out whenever he wants."

I look over to Spy who has finally opted for more casual clothing, still managing to look like a rich old man in the process. His yellow boat shorts and shorts as well as his mid-calf white socks highlight his notably skinny legs in comparison to his chest. Heavy also has an abdomen to leg ratio that's on the same contrast. Seeing them without their usual fort attire is uncanny, to say the least. Spy adjusts the collar on his white polo shirt. "This is true, assuming my watch will be fixed in time, Laborer?"

"Yes'm, sir. In fact-" Engie takes his watch out of his pocket and hands it over to him. "I finished it up right before Miss Fredrickson came by with Jane and Mikhail, good as new. I also decided to extend the time of your cloaking, free of charge of course."

Spy straps it on and winds it up, smirking at the face. "Thirty minutes, I like this."

"You'll also have an extra ten minutes if you need to go into overtime, but there's a catch: It won't recharge if your ten minutes are up."

"Understood," Spy says and sets the time. _"Merci, Ingénieur."_

"Weren't no thing."

"Two questions," I start, "why don't we use Spy's name, and where did you get the parts to fix his watch?"

"To answer your first question, I wish not to hand out that information. That would defeat the purpose of me being a spy. This is the same reason I do not take off my gloves so as to not track my fingerprints everywhere. I do not respond to anything else but 'Spy' anyway, so giving me a fake name would be useless," the French answers. He backtracks a bit. "In the event of an emergency, Jean Baptiste Dupont will suffice. It is the french version of your John Doe." I lift a finger to speak and he answers my question before I ask it. "Jane Doe is the real name of _Soldat_ , yes this is true."

"No one was gonna use the room phone anyway..." Engie whispers. I cross my arms and furrow my brows at him, a sheepish chuckle his only response. I sigh.

"I suppose you're right, but still. To get back on topic, Miss Pauling said you'd be going at her plus one, Mr. Mundy."

He looks at the tickets in his hand and rubs the back on his neck. "I, I, uh, think Jane would fit that spot a bit better, Freddie."

"Mick, we both know that's a lie," Engie has snark slathered onto his tone. "I know you're mighty shy, but we're gonna need both you and Doc for this should the opportunity we're looking for arise."

He sighs. "Poison gets confusing when two people are carrying it at the same time, mate. Though, you're not entirely wrong. I'm sure a kick in the nads would get me going, but I'll be leaving that up to Jane until that happens." 

"We'll talk strategy tonight, so you two can decide then," I inform.

Poison. Is that what Scout was talking about when he mentioned Medic would be a viable candidate? Obviously, we're going to have to sit down tonight and discuss the plan as a team once we get more information from today. Demo and Scout must still be waiting for us, and skipping breakfast for an hour or two won't be too bad since there's always lunch. Both of them aren't what I'd exactly count as discreet based on the minimum interactions I've had with them and how they talk, so having us there would take some suspicion away from them should it ever arise. Sniper's eyes lock with mine when I glance over at him. He smiles gently at me with a shrug, and I shrug back at him, stretching my lips thin. Someone catches my attention from the corner of my eye in between Sniper and Spy as though they've been staring at us for a while. Like they want something. 

"Uh, Miss?" Engie questions what I see.

I step up to the two men and raise my hand to nudge Spy to the side a bit. Bailey. He has a yellow bruise forming on his cheek from where I punched him, a lop-sided grin on his face while he tries to express his smug coyness. I grit my teeth, grabbing Sniper's wrist and pulling him along for the ride.

"Luv, the bloody hell're you doing?" He asks, stumbling along and leaning forward to compensate for the half of a foot difference in height we share before I let him go.

Bailey assimilates into the crowd, weaving between people. I scoff and spit excuses as I push other people aside, getting an unruly name or two thrown in my direction simply for rubbing shoulders with some folks. Sniper grumbles as he follows me. We pop out at the other end, Spy and Engie close behind. 

"Miss Ma'am, what in Sam Hill are you--"

"Mercenary, Bailey, have to go get him," I spout, briskly walking with Sniper still in tow as we race to keep up with him. Cleaning crew carts stand in the middle of the hall, and I worm by, picking up the pace as we turn. The elevator dings and I push open the stairwell door, running up the steps to meet him at the top. Sniper skips steps and Spy walks up calmly, Engie lagging behind on the landing while I push the door open. Sniper puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls me back leaning over to whisper to me. 

"You sure you're up to this, Freddie?"

"Yes," I state, swinging the door open and yanking him forward. Wading through a small gathering in the hall, we come up to the upper lobby, scanning the crowd for our target. Engie pants as she jogs lightly to join us again, Spy fading in and checking his watch while he walks up to us. I look at the opening where the sun comes in and groan with a scowl, pursuing further. Engie and Sniper hold onto their hats as the wind picks up.

The sun blazes my vision and burns my skin, beads of perspiration coming from my forehead. I spot Demo sitting on a lounge chair by the pool, whistling to catch his attention. He snaps his head to us, standing up and walking next to me as I make a bee-line for Bailey. 

"Lass?" He asks.

"Mercenary," I hum in a lighter tone, pointing in front of me and side-stepping around people. 

"Ma'am, the hell you even gonna do when you catch up to him?" Engie pants, trying his best to keep up with my short but quick steps.

"Dunno, but I'll probably shoot him."

"Aw, hell, Miss," Engie shushes with a groan. 

Scout stands at the bar talking to a woman who looks rather uninterested, seeing us move along in a pack and moving his eyes forward to see where we're going. His face drops and his eyes harden, bite in his bark. _**"Bailey!"**_

Bailey goes out sprinting, Scout getting stopped up by pool-goers. I groan, taking the gun out and throwing my purse to Engie as Sniper I take off. Sniper takes the gun from me, turns around, and reenters the boat to try and intercept him should he make a loop. People get out of our way as we call out for them to move. Scout jumps over a chair and runs with me. He smirks at me. "Try to keep up."

We round the deck and come onto the other side of the boat, hollering for passage as to not mow anyone down. We reenter the main building, entering the hallways that lead to cabin. Bailey checks behind himself, a cleaning lady exiting into the hallway. He takes her laundry cart from her and pushes it over, Scout jumping over unhindered while I apologize to the woman going around the obstacle. I start to lag behind Scout, widening my strides as I take another turn, hearing people's protests up ahead. Scout runs past a family standing in the halls, dismay in their composure. As I approach, Bailey barrels out of their rooms and pins me against the wall. I growl and jut my knee into his stomach, elbowing his face to get him off of me. The mother pulls her two young boys closer to her. I huff. "Ma'am, get your family out of here!"

Bailey throws a punch that I dodge, following up by grabbing the back of his shirt and pushing him down. He sweeps my feet, my head hitting the ground as he gets on top of me and puts his hands around my neck. I use my feet to try and kick him off, my hands latched onto his wrists to push him away. Where are Scout and Sniper? The family stands there, frozen. I cough. _"Go. Now."_

The husband ushers them away, and I kick up. My legs hang over his shoulders, and I tighten my knees to grip his neck, extending my body and hearing a pop in his elbows. He groans as I extend his arms out, trying my hardest to break them to get him off of me. My breathing becomes shallow, and I can't find the strength to keep stretching out as he pushes back on me to keep me compact. A door opens next to me and the custodian I stole from comes out. He looks at us, pulling his cart out of the room and going about his business as if I'm not about to get choked out. Anger seeps into my bloodstream as I link my ankles, exerting as much force as I can to attempt to dislocate his joints. He's feeling the strain as he gasps out, heaving.

"Batter up!" Scout yells, whacking Bailey with a fire extinguisher. The custodian circles back, tackling Scout and rolling on the ground with him. Bailey makes his escape as we deal with the custodian, Scout kicking in his stomach. "Keep your mouth shut while we go kill your buddy, alright?"

"Scout, let's go," I pull his sleeve and we both come up to the staircase again. "Where's Sniper?"

"Dunno, don't care, we can take care of this ourselves." 

"With what?" I squawk.

"I'll figure it out!"

It's a maintenance staircase, so I take out my keys and unlock the door, Bailey standing on the landing. He starts running down the second flight, Scout leaping to the bottom and rolling to soften his landing, throwing himself down the second part as well. I pant as I try to skip steps, stumbling over my feet and descending normally to catch the door before it closes. Scout is a blur, only being able to catch the back end of his shirt as he left it unbuttoned to show off to women at the pool. I trail Scout who's climbing up on top of a generator as more roadblocks have been created. He pulls his body up to the catwalk and follows Bailey from above while I search for another route. Crewmates oppose our presence, but I pass them by and try to judge where our target is going based on Scout's movements. I almost attack Miss Pauling and Sniper as they round a corner and face me. Sniper yells to be heard in the hull, but I can't understand him and sigh, pulling him along. Sniper leads us down a different path, Miss Pauling separating with the gun. We start jogging, passing by an office, and going down more stairs. The engines get louder and the heat is almost unbearable, my ears trying to block out the assault. 

He slows, sliding across the glossy tile floor and huffing as he advances toward Bailey. He tries running in the other direction but backs up once more when Miss Pauling comes into view with her gun raised. He's trapped. Scout squats as he stands above us on top of a control tower, popping his gum as he sits with his legs hanging off. Miss Pauling pulls the trigger, the bang of the gun sounding like a little bump in the night compared to the roar of the machinery. Queasiness settles into my stomach. Two men are dead today because of me. Sniper looks on unapologetically, Miss Pauling holstering the gun and observing her work. A crimson red flare pours blood from his brain, his eyes fixated on the ceiling. Smoke pools around his body and reveals that it was someone else cloaked as Bailey. Fuck, man. Scout jumps down, lifting an eyebrow as I take a few steps back. I can't hear him, but I know what he's saying.

_"You okay? Hey, hey, you okay?"_

I nod with a forced smile, not bothering to put my voice behind my mouth. _"Yeah, I'm fine."_


	28. Twenty-Eight: Skip the Formalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Miss Pauling)
> 
> Just as we're about to put this plan into motion, Fredrickson is suddenly unconfident in her abilities. She couldn't have chosen a worse time to do this to me, to us as a team. She needs to get it together. Everyone's been too nice to her and throwing her a pity party. Someone has to be the "bad guy," and I guess it's going to have to be me.

Engie smiles at me as I push the knot up his yellow tie. I scoff quietly and smile back. "What are you so happy about?"

"Mmm, nothin'," he claims with sweetness as I fold his red collar back over. He buttons his cufflinks and sighs while reaching for his jacket. He opted to have our attire complement each other, as revealed from when he asked what color my dress was while at the fort. His tie goes along with my dress, and my shawl mirrors his shirt. Yellow has proven time and time again that it's one of the few colors that look good on darker skin no matter the variation, tacking on that it just so happens to be my favorite.

I look over at Engie's glove. "Engie, could you please take your glove off?"

"Why?"

"We're trying to blend in as much as possible, and I know you won't budge on your goggles," I explain with a gentle tone. I hold my hand out. "Hand it over."

"Oh, but you're wearing gloves, Miss Fredrickson. C'mon now," he counters.

"Because they go with my dress. Engineer, please," I pester. "I'll even take off my own so we're even."

Heavy chuckles and I look over to Medic helping him with his own tie. "Heavy has learned to never go against wishes of lady from sisters. Give up, Engineer."

"Misha is correct," Medic quietly agrees, "Neuro has expressed this same behavior. The will of a woman will be seen through until it is instilled."

He stands frozen, not doing anything. I step up to him and lift his arm up. He balls his hand into a fist, and I pry his fingers up, his hand feeling significantly different from when it was resting on my hip on the jet ski. "Engie. What are you hiding?"

"Nothin'," he says again, trying to block my hands. 

"Then take off the glove, dear," I sweetly suggest. He grumbles, and I back off a little. "Is there something wrong with your hand? If there is, then you can keep it on."

He slides it off, revealing the ordinary. "Nope, see, it's perfectly fine."

"Then why--"

"I'm just a bit difficult sometimes, Ma'am." He tosses his glove onto the bed and picks up his jacket, buttoning up over his stomach. I leave my gloves on the bed with his. "You do look rather stunning in your dress, though."

I straighten out his lapel and turn the corners of my lips upward. That same weird feeling in my chest, but he's not asking me to go or do anything with him this time. "And you rather striking in your suit." I pat my hands on his chest. "You'll do great."

It was hard to focus during the planning phase last night. No matter how much I tried to push it away, the face of the man from the brig kept invading my head. Constant. Nonstop. Miss Pauling had gotten rid of both him and the guy that was disguised as Bailey during the night, throwing them overboard with the help of Heavy and Sniper. I pulled the trigger. I didn't fight him, I didn't knock him out, I shot him in the head. We never found out if he worked for the Peytons. If he did, I don't think I'd feel any better, but at least I'd know that it was absolutely necessary to do so.

Miss Pauling enters the room, a purple satin dress fitted to her body and flats. I told her not to wear the shrug, but she did anyway to cover her arms, and she reminds me of an English teacher with how long her coat is over her dress. At least it matches. Her hair is slicked back into a bun, as per usual. "Come on, we've gotta go."

"Wait, wait," Sniper stumbles in after her in a brown suit he borrowed from Spy, coming up to me and holding a medical syringe out. "Take this, Luv."

I stare, inscrutable. "Why are you giving me a needle?"

He emphasizes for me to take it. "Self-defense."

"Where would I even put that?" I open my arms and turn around. "I have no pockets, good sir."

"I gave you a garter belt for a reason, Fredrickson," Miss Pauling adds. I give her an equally expressionless face, disappointment as the base. She lifts one side of her dress to her mid-thigh, a gun strapped to her leg. "I'm almost thankful for all of the useless undergarments women wear, it's like having a purse but discreet."

"Would be giving you a handgun, provided I had one. Snipin' and all that," Sniper apologizes, and I exhale. "At the very least, it's got a cover o'er the sharp part 'ere."

Medic takes it from him to inspect. "What did you put in here, Sniper?"

"Grey Death," he says. 

"Heroin," I clarify. The two of them look over to me, curious. "Getting your hands on it wasn't the hardest thing to do when I was a teenager." I know the look they're giving me. "Doesn't mean that I shot any up. I'm not based or anything."

"Yes, I was not implying that, I was just a bit surprised that someone who wasn't Sniper or Miss Pauling knew what it was made of," Medic says. "At any rate, this contains lethal amounts of fentanyl, a powerful sedative used most commonly for large animals. Think elephants and hippopotami. Inhaling just a few particles would be extremely damaging, if not as deadly. In the event you should ever need to use this, just pop off the cap, grab ahold of your target-" he places a hand on my shoulder and holds me still, the cap still over the needle, "forcefully insert in the lungs-" he stops short of poking me in the rib cage, "or the neck-" he taps the plastic covering to the crook of my shoulder. "The neck is preferred. Once you've gotten that far, make sure you empty the contents as much as possible and then make your escape to limit the risk of accepting vapors."

"The thigh is also a great mark, but don't make it your first choice, alright?" Sniper adds. Medic takes my hand, places the tube in my palm, and closes my fingers over it. I express disgust, but still accept, bending over to pick up the bottom of my skirt that rests above my knees. I roll it up and sit down on the edge of Medic's bed to slide the weapon in between the fabric and my thigh. Engie helps me stand back up and holds onto me as I step into my black heels, keeping them off as long as I could as stilettos are notorious for immense pain and torture. They're not too tall, but the four inches they add renders me two inches taller than Engie. Sniper glances at me and then Miss Pauling. She lifts an eyebrow at him before he looks at me. "Ain't that a beaut."

We both stare at each other, and I turn around to act as though I'm still over looking Engie. "Thank you."

Medic and Heavy decided to match suits, Heavy in dark pine green and Medic clad in amber brown. We head out into the hallway, the rest of our team joining us in the corridor. Spy secures his ski mask and checks his watch.

" _Bonsoir_ , looking sharp. Any moment now, they will be leaving their estate. We shall go in and secure the money, Pyro setting up a self-contained fire in one of the cabanas on deck to distract from the murders once the money is safe. Whatever unfolds at that conference of yours rests within your hands. Scout and Soldier will be your back up when the general population of the ship arrives with the juvenile dance the cruise has chosen to prepare. Demoman is providing clean up."

"Make sure you guys do this quietly," Miss Pauling warns, turning to Scout. "Did you hear me? _Quietly._ "

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Scout agrees. "Don't worry Miss P, we've got this. By the way, you're looking super sexy in that dr--"

"Don't be late when nine rolls around, we'll need the cover. Everyone go get into place, we'll be in the ballroom. Spy, you already know to check in with me at five so we can relay information before you get the ball rolling," Miss Pauling pulls close the opening to her shrug and nods, no words being exchanged but a unanimous glance amongst our small crowd signifies that we're ready. Engie turns his elbow outward, my hand being higher up his arm than what I expected with our adjusted height difference. My heels clack as we walk to the lobby, passing through to get to the staircase in the other hall of cabins. A pair of men see us walk by, and I slowly pull my hand out from Engie's arm until he pulls me back. Medic and Heavy link arms like we do, Sniper and Miss Pauling keeping their distance from one another.

Sniper obviously doesn't like unnecessary contact, and I understand where Miss Pauling is coming from to not be perceived as with a man. Our two other teammates are delighted as they travel together, their fingers intertwining while holding a contained conversation. There's a warm feeling in my heart from seeing them together. _Didn't Medic say he has a wife, though?_

Stairs have become an inconvenience. I groan. "I'll just take my shoes off."

"Miss, let me help you," Engie offers, moving a hand to my back. I step onto the landing and hold onto his while I lift my leg. "No, Miss Fredrickson, dear, just let me help up."

"No, no, I got it, it'd just be easier to take them off," I say, reaching for them again.

"Fredrickson, keep your shoes on," Miss Pauling finalizes sternly as her flats tap against the stairs. 

"We weren't evolved to wear those specific kinds of footwear, Miss Fredrickson. I do suggest learning through suffering," Medic calls down to me from the top as Heavy and Sniper open the door. Miss Pauling is the last one through, and we make it to the entrance of the ballroom. People of all different kinds of backgrounds mill about and socialize to the best of their ability, despite the many language barriers they are running into. A hostess leads the six of us over to a table that has a small card in the center. **_TF INDUSTRIES._** Medic beckons a server over and takes a glass of champagne from his platter, Miss Pauling following suit. I take one, the rest of our party declining. The German lifts his glass gently and speaks sotto voce. _"To our new team member's first contract."_

Miss Pauling crosses her arms and swirls her glass. _"To not screwing this up."_ I remain silent and take a nervous sip. Miss Pauling puts the rim to her lips. "Go make nice and try to find out information on the Peytons' whereabouts. The pamphlet says they'll be making an appearance."

"Miss Fredrickson, this way," Engie says. He and I approach a gathering, fitting in once we strike up a conversation with a woman dressed in Kente cloth and another in a sari. "Good evening, ladies."

**"सुसंध्या।,"** the woman in a sari says as she bows. "Namaste. Good evening to you. I am Priyanka Kapoor, a social services worker."

"I am Samia Mensaa, a journalist diplomat from Ashantiland. You may know this land as Ghana now," the African woman introduces herself with a smile. My cheeks feel slightly warm. She's really pretty.

"Mona Fredrickson," I hesitantly start, shakily bowing back. "Good evening. I am a secretary working for Reliable Excavations Demolition."

"TF Industries?" Priyanka asks for confirmation. I nod, and she gives Samia a relieved look. "We are associates. You must be Dell Conagher, sir?"

"Yes, Ma'am, that'd be me," Engie places his hand over the one I still have on the inside of his elbow. His right hand is significantly colder than his left.

Samia runs her fingers along one of her long earrings. "We don't know of each other's objectives, and that is perhaps for the best so we don't confuse each other. If you ever need backup, though, I'd be willing to offer help as a pyro."

"As am I," Priyanka seconds. "I would aid as a spy."

"That'd be appreciated. If you need anything, you'd be talking to me or the lady in purple over there," I inform, pointing to Miss Pauling who sits at the table alone. 

"We should not congregate," Priyanka says. "Perhaps we shall meet again another time." She and Samia go their separate ways, and I drink more champagne to try and loosen up a bit. I'm in too deep; I can't escape this job. Already am I meeting mercenaries from other teams with the slight chance that we'll have to coordinate to kill more than two people tonight. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Engie looks up at me. 

"Everything alright?" He asks. 

"Yeah, don't worry," I claim. He expresses concern but goes on to mingle with me at his side. He gets a few odd looks, and I tack it onto his goggles rather than the person he chose to have at his side. Sniper stays silent in discussions, idling by and picking up on anything he hears. Medic is clearly a social butterfly, talking for both him and Heavy as he seems to be detailing how the two of them met, getting bits of information from everyone in the process to determine if they're a friend or not.

"Mrs. Conagher?" The man Engie is talking to calls my attention and I purse my lips. 

"Oh, oh, we're--" I awkwardly chuckle, one of the triplets presented in front of me. I step closer to Engie. "Yes?"

"I was saying that it was nice meeting you two," he reiterates, leaving with who I can assume is his girlfriend who eyes me down as if we both know why we're here.

"Miss, you've been more than a bit absent all day, you sure you're okay?"

I nod, setting my glass down on a server's tray when he offers to take it from me. Microphone feedback squeals and a woman directs us to take a seat at our designated tables. Engie takes my shawl from me, lays it on the back of my chair, and pushes it in for me when I sit down, Heavy giving Medic the same treatment. Miss Pauling sits on my other side, Sniper sitting next to her and Heavy following after. 

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the MC begins. "Welcome to the fifth annual Progressive Partners conference aboard the Sangria Sanctum. Every single one of our speakers tonight has a distinguished background of merit and accomplishments that include furthering the world's technology and strengthening bonds between nations. This is a night to share ideas and to take home knowledge that your fellow upstanding leaders are willing to share. Please welcome our first speaker from Beijing, China. He has been to North Korea on diplomatic work to smooth over tension. Premier of the People's Republic of China, Li Jie."

Miss Pauling taps my arm and widens her eyes. I stand up with her, quietly excusing ourselves and walking over to the exit to get back to the hall. The sun outside is setting and it's gotten colder without my covering. Miss Pauling pulls me over to a sitting area and seats us on the sofa, Spy uncloaking in the armchair across from us. He looks up from his watch, folding his legs and putting his head in his hand. "Everything is set up. We have run into a bit of an issue, though. A portion of the money is located within the woman's wing of the spa and they evidently have guard dogs that have proven to be able to smell testosterone."

"That's new," Miss Pauling conveys surprise. "Who tested that theory?"

"We were about to send in Scout but an unrelated pervert did that for us. Let me just say that he will more than likely never start a family if he hasn't already."

"These guys also cut off Soldier's hand as a warning, and we were told that they're a bit mad in the head," I remind them of what we're dealing with.

Miss Pauling sucks in her lips. "Even though Pyro's also cut off hands as warnings, the dog is a bit brutal. I'll go investigate."

"Taking care of casualties will maybe take some time, but we will be secured by nine."

"Good. Once all of that is done, I'll give you the okay to start making decisions. Fredrickson, I'm leaving this in your hands," Miss Pauling counts on me, Spy cloaking and pitter-pattering to his objective. Miss Pauling squints at me. "I know that look, Fredrickson. Do _not_ tell me you're giving up."

"I'm not," I argue. "This is stressful, is all."

"I don't care," she aggressively admits. "You wanted this job, you're getting this job. I know I was going easy on you before, but that's not an option here. We can't let this go by just because you had a change of heart. Get it done, Fredrickson. Also, don't tell Heavy about the dog. Trust me, just don't even think about the dog near him."

She leaves me alone with my thoughts in the sitting room. The pressure is settling in. It's crushing my chest and making me feel weaker and weaker with each passing second. The only way we'd be able to complete this op is if one of the other guys do it. It can't be me. I physically can't bring myself to do it. Yes, I feel bad about shooting that man now, but at the time I didn't even feel anything. The shock of realizing I had that ability inside of me numbed the guilt. All of it is too much to bear, and I'm regretting accepting this job for the second time. Engie comes out of the ballroom looking for me, sitting down next to me, and asking me what's wrong. I don't answer. He looks disappointed in my unwillingness to speak my mind to him. He moves closer to me. "C'mon. Tell me."

"Tell you what?" I speak in a quiet volume.

"Remember what I said about slippin'?" He folds his hands in his lap. "Tell me what's wrong." I shake my head. "I'll just pester ya all night if that's what it'll take."

I exhale, knowing that that was a promise. "I shot a man yesterday."

"You're upset over the Peytons?"

"No, I just shot a person. Just a guy. It wasn't clear if he was working for the Peytons, but I just _shot_ him. I killed him. Square in the head and I didn't even notice that I was doing it until he was already gone," I recount, my throat becoming dry and tightening. "And I know I shouldn't feel bad because then it'll get in the way of the job, but I still feel horrible. That's someone's life I took, Dell. I was the direct cause of it."

"It's perfectly fine to feel glum about something like that."

"But it isn't," I sniff, heat rising to my cheeks. My voice gets weaker as I prattle on, getting harder and harder to speak to him clearly. "I'm going to screw up our entire plan should it come down to me to end it. I don't kill people, I only injure them. I don't- I don't kill people. God, I'm pathetic, aren't I?" I laugh and wipe my eyes. "It's the same reason you got shot, right? Just because I didn't want to shoot and kill someone, I almost got you four killed."

He sits quietly as I try to hold back the waterworks and spare him the sorry display. He reaches over and pulls me into a hug. "You're just doing your best, dear." I hug him back, tears threatening to burst if I don't. "There's nothing I can say to make that feeling go away, Mona, but I want to let you know that that's what makes you human. You may think yourself weak, but a couple of ruffians like ourselves needs a beautiful soul like yours around to keep some trace of compassion left in us. Day in and day out of doing things like this takes a toll on ya, darling."

He holds onto me while I take the time to collect myself. "It does, doesn't it?"

"I love having you here, darling. You may not like it too much now, but you might come around later. I hope you do, we haven't had a new face around here in six years, and the last one to join was Scout," Engie chuckles. "Gets old _real_ quick. Well, Pyro technically came two years ago, but he's not much of a ruckus. A kind and caringly lovely little lady like yourself changes the scenery up, though."

I can't help but let out a weak laugh at his unorthodox approach at comforting me. It secures me, even if I only feel about three percent less horrible for what I did or what I'm about to do. That's his whole thing, isn't it? Dropping little words of encouragement through flattery to get me where I need to be. He's kind to me, has been from the start. I hug him tighter, and he quietly chuckles.

"Alright, I love ya, too, Accomplice."

I smile. _Love._ Doubt still pools in my stomach, but the weight of it lifts if only just a little. A couple walks by, and I straighten myself out by letting go of him. "Thank you, Engie."

He stands up and pulls me up with him putting his arm around my waist to lead me back into the ballroom. "C'mon, let's go get this thing over with."


	29. Twenty-Nine: A Dance with a Devil, the Good Old Bait and Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Medic)
> 
> Even though she's physically in wonderful shape, it's come to my attention that, mentally, her dying and taking upon this work has taken its toll. I'm unsure if it's only a temporary depressive state or permanent, but I'll have to proceed carefully to keep from pushing her to any extreme. It also was hard to take her from Engineer during their dance as I was the one who encouraged it, but the job must be done first. In hopes of preventing a fiasco from last time, I have taken it upon myself to be responsible for Miss Fredrickson and watch over her. Ooh, I shouldn't have said that as though she's my child. She's perfectly capable, if not inexperienced.

" _'It builds character'_ is what my father told me. He might've miscalculated on that since the amount of disciplinin' my mama gave me was building much faster than accidentally hitting my thumb with a hammer was. It might've been because she didn't like the foul mouth the tools in the garage were was givin' me, but I digress," Engie smiles, a light wave of amusement hitting the room. I scan the crowd as he talks, both of the Peytons making eye contact with me at least three times now. They sit at their own table with four other guests, two of which have already spoken before. Medic is still pending, and we're nearing the end of the time slot for Engie. 

"Engineering for me has been a way of life more than a career or a hobby. It doesn't require much talking, and neither does living on a farm which is why I've had such a struggle trying to deliver this message to y'all. To save face before I make any more of a fool of myself, my plans for the future are to team up with your next speaker, Dr. Humboldt, to try and make headway in combatting avian influenza that has been making its rounds in the past few years. I thank you, uh, for sufferin' through this with me."

There's the courtesy round of applause as Engie and I pick up and start to walk off stage, Medic waiting at the foot of the three steps down. The MC makes some fluff words to buffer and give Medic time to prepare. He smiles at me as I stop to talk to him. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Of course I do," he says.

"Considering that your entire speech was written in German and that you refused to translate for me, I would hope you do, Dr. Humboldt," I whisper, strained. I tuck his tie into his jacket and pick lint from his suit, cleaning him up before he has to present. As soon as I finish refolding his pocket square, I take a step back and look him over once more.

"Miss Fredrickson, there's something I must tell you," he bends over for me while I take his glasses off to clean them, "but it shall wait until later."

"Alright, then," I accept with a quiet giggle at the formality of his voice. I slide his glasses back onto his face and pat his cheek a couple of times as the MC introduces him. "Stick to the script, but feel free to edit on the fly if you know that your audience isn't going to like it."

"I make no promises," he trails with a high tone, stepping onto the stage and taking his spot at the podium. _"Guten Abend._ Good evening all, I'm Doctor Ludwig Humboldt, a colleague of both Doctors Dell Conagher and Mikhail. To make things clear, I'm a field medic--"

"Crikey," Sniper sneers as I take my seat back at the table, the Aussie having taken Miss Pauling's spot.

"Uhm, Accomplice," Engie whispers as he moves his chair closer to speak to me. "Thank you, for going up there with me, even if I still messed up a couple of times."

"No problem," I whisper back with a smile. "There's never going to be a perfect speech, you did good, what with your incredibly small time frame to prepare. I think Medic is our last speaker for the night, right?"

"Says so on the paper. If he ain't, think I'll blow a gasket. Sittin' around for four hours and not being able to do nothing is tiring."

Scout and Soldier quietly seat themselves across from us at the table. The younger man opens his mouth to speak, but I put my finger to my lips to stop him, nodding my head over to Medic on stage. "...And, to not waste much time here, we had come to find that someone had stolen his entire skeleton. Every single bone in his body: Gone. Naturally, I investigated to find the thief."

"He really enjoys that story, doesn't he?" I ask.

"Yup," Sniper answers, tilting his sunglasses in his lap to keep his hands busy. He watches someone walk across the room. "Bugger's proud of that one there, I can assure you, even if he twists the tale a few times."

"Little lady comes with Heavy," Heavy demands as he rises out of his seat and leads me to the restrooms. He pushes the door to the men's room open, and I wriggle my wrist out of his grasp, taking a step back each time he tries to reach for me. The large man towers over me, and I give relatively easily, accepting defeat as I take the walk of shame inside. 

The clack of my heels echoes against the bathroom tile. The amount of gratitude I feel for the fact that there's only one person here is thriving. Heavy glances down at me as we stand outside the closed stall, his eyesight easily allowing him to peer inward if he so pleased. I take a moment to look around; a nice pastel lime green is the primary color in this scheme, tawny as the accent. A fake potted cactus sits in between the two metal sinks that are shaped like oyster shells. The toilet flushes and the stall opens up, a man pausing for a moment to digest the scene. "You mind moving? Kinda need to get back out there."

"What is your name?" Heavy asks, no-nonsense in his tone.

"Dominic Winston, the Peytons' accountant. I don't understand why you needed to follow me into the _men's_ room to socialize when you could've waited until the conference is over, Mrs. Conagher," he eyes me specifically. I puff out my lips.

"You have something that now belongs to the Administrator."

He lets out a short burst of a laugh before pushing past me and Heavy to get to the sink. "Oh? You two are here in Helen's place? Can't have the money, sorry."

"Money is already taken. Little lady was talking about your life," Heavy clarifies.

He scoffs. "She could've done bet--" Heavy puts his hand on the back of his head and slams Dominic's face into the decorative sink. I take a step back when I hear the _bong!_ of the metal reverberating from the impact. Heavy holds him up, Dominic panting as blood drips down his face and over his lips. "The hell do you want?"

"Whaddya got?" I keep my distance and lock the door. "I'm more interested in your security detail since we already know where the money is."

"Mmm, screw you," he stifles.

_"Heavy,"_ I allow. He growls as he grabs the collar of his shirt and throws him back into the stall, his head hitting the wall tiling as he rests in the latrine. We both stand at the door. "Whaddya got?"

"Screw you," he repeats. I cross my arms and watch as Heavy pulls him out and bashes his skull into the sink once more.

"I will crush you," Heavy whispers. "Heavy will make sure little baby bones look like itty-bitty snowflakes on ground back home in Russia. Talk."

"Screw you." His forehead meets the sink again. And again. And again. And again. He doesn't make a peep and accepts his fate, crimson pooling on the cream floor tiling. Heavy straightens out his jacket as I look on with pensive worry. Two knocks on the door after the doorknob jiggles makes two mercenaries on edge. The Russian goes to check, letting Demo with a laundry cart in. 

"Feel like a back-poking _snake,_ " Demo hisses, unamused with his disguise. He and Heavy remove Dominic from the ground and lift him into the cart, Demo moving the sheets in the bin to cover him. "Go. I'll clean up."

Heavy and I slip out unnoticed, Medic finishing up. Scout sits hunched over the table as he doodles on a napkin, and I tap his shoulder as I pass behind him to get him to sit up correctly. Sniper and Soldier turn to me as Engie pushes my chair back in for me. I eye Heavy and sigh as I flatten out my skirt. "Nothing out of him."

"I thank you all for your time. _Auf Wiedersehen._ " Medic steps down once the room gives a hesitant round of applause, many people expressing confusion at their tables.

"Uh, yes. That wraps up tonight. Please feel free to stick around for the- the, uh- The _formal_ later tonight." The MC is visibly distraught at the turn of events tonight, as are we. People exchange spots as speakers for the conference leave and normal passengers trickle in. Music comes on, and there's an immediate flock to go and dance, given that the tunes are extremely popular. We remain seated at our table for a while longer, our conversations getting drowned out by the volume.

"Heavy shall leave now," he announces, standing up. Medic stops him.

"Aw, _Bärchen,_ you promised me a dance."

"This, I know, **Лучик** , I will return later. Demo needs help with the laundry," he points behind him to Demo leaving the bathroom with the cart. "Do not die, anyone, as this would be very disappointing."

"Of course we're not gonna die, lardass," Scout barks with snark. Heavy rumbles.

"Heavy takes statement back, it would be very disappointing if Scout is only one left alive."

"You should get going, Heavy," Engie suggests, holding his right wrist and twisting his hand around. Something's wrong with his hand. I can't pin down what, though. "Looks like the Peytons're stayin' so we are, too. Guarantee their posse is just as aware of us as we are of them. Still, we'll have to get close to them. Say, Soldier-" Engie turns his attention to his other side as he's switched seats. "Heard you were a snake. Wanna rattle?"

"If you say so." Soldier shoots his fist out and decks Engie clear across the cheek, Engie putting up both of his hands in protest as I rise to stop him.

"Soldier! Solly, I was-- I was referrin' to dancin'," Engie readjusts his tie as I settle Soldier back into his seat.

"I thought we were fighting," he says. "You said snake rattling was fighting."

"I also told you it meant _dancing_ , son," he reminds him with a distraught tone. 

"You told me we'd only use it for fighting."

"Just come and do the damn Twist with me." He pulls Soldier along with him, and I scoff at their interaction, a smile gracing my face at the absurdity I just witnessed.

"Hey, Accomplice, you, me, and Sniper can do the Twist, too," Scout offers, unbuttoning his jacket to leave it on his chair. I'm not feeling like dancing right now. Dancing stems from happiness, and I'm anything but happy. Quite the opposite, actually. I would be better off pretending like I'm fine. The façade can stay for a bit longer.

"Sure," I accept, Scout taking my hand and leading me toward the center of the crowd. Sniper stands next to me, Scout preparing himself before the song changes. He groans at the change of pace, obviously not being a fan of slow dancing. I would've thought he would be, what with having to get close to your partner. He leaves without consulting either me or Sniper, the two of us left to look at each other. He reaches his hands out as though he's offering a dance before retracting and retreating back to the table. A tap on my shoulder makes me turn, Engie at my side. 

"Saw you were a lonely snake," he starts, "so you wanna rattle?" I take the hand he's holding out and step closer to him, his hands around my waist. My arms are draped loosely over his shoulders. A quick glance around at the other pairs reminds me of how fleeting the bliss of ignorance is. They don't know that people are dying on board, but once they find out, they'd do everything in their power to forget that it's actually happening.

_"Wise men say,"_ Engie sings quietly along to the song as we go around in a slow circle, _"only fools rush in."_

_"But I can't help,_ _"_ I continue, silently, shying away slightly when he looks up at me, _"falling in love with you."_

I shut my mouth, knowing full well that a song can't do anything for me to feel any better. Engie pulls me closer to him. "You alright, Ma'am?"

"No," I say, pulling him into another hug. He picks up with me where we left off. _"If I can't help falling in love with you."_

He hums the rest of the way as I opt to stop singing, feeling another sting of tears for no apparent reason. The deep baritone nature of his performance weighs on my heart. It's somber, but fitting, making my heart beat faster. I look up in the middle of the song, Medic looming behind us. He shows us a minuscule needle that lays in between his fingers. "I do apologize for poaching, but may I ask to have this dance? I once heard this song was intoxicating... Almost like _poison._ " Engie reluctantly backs away as Medic places the hand with the needle on my back, the point facing outward. Our fingers intertwine on his other hand, and Engie retakes his spot next to Soldier again and I'm left with the doctor. His hands are warm and rather soft, his visible skin smooth and devoid of any major scars. His posture is stiff and proper, some of his muscles relaxing as we sway to the beat. Elvis has that effect on people. "You haven't been very content."

"No," I whisper, "I haven't."

"And why would that be?" He asks.

"Not even thirty minutes ago, in the bathroom," I start. He gets the gist. "I- I don't think I can do it should the wire come down with me at the end. I just can't."

"There's more, though," he furthers, gentle concern in his voice. "I've seen it before. It started the first time you came to stay with us. You're doubting yourself. Or maybe you're afraid of something?"

That's a can of worms. Sniper knew what he was talking about when he said that they can all sense it. Sense the fear. "Afraid of failing."

He snickers quietly. "Neuro was the exact same way. She didn't want to let me or her team down. She's never been Captain before, only a medic. Same thing with being a mother."

"You have kids," I blankly state.

"Yes, a young boy. His name is Socrates."

"I learn more about y'all every single day."

"But that's beside the point. It's alright to be a little afraid of a new task."

"This is different-" I furrow my brow as I look at the knot in his tie. "Lives are on the line, here."

"Allow me to say that you fascinate me, Mona," he admits. "You are one of the first trials I've done that hasn't died in the days following its reinstatement. I was sure you'd change physically in some way after such a harrowing experience, and yet, you didn't. Everything you're doing is defying each and every single one of my expectations."

"What does that have to do with anything?" The song changes, but it's still a slow song, giving us some extra time.

"You're a survivor. Something within you thrives to live, and I'd like to find out that something. Everything about you breathing and walking and talking right now has me on the edge of my seat because, biologically, you shouldn't be allowed to do that. I'm intrigued by your mere existence. Everything you do leaves me more and more curious. I want to be by your side every waking moment, just to see what you'll do next for the sole fact that you're supposed to be dead. You borrowed time that I stole for you, and I'm ever so excited to see what you do with it."

"Dr. Humboldt," I shakily gasp, laying my head on his chest as we continue to rock back and forth. 

"Please," he chuckles, "Call me Ludwig." Something about the way he said it. Heat pricks my eyes, and I feel like crying. Again. For the third time today. Not because I'm sad this time but because it's cemented in my head. They actually do want me here. Even though the Administrator has an ax wavering above my neck as an incentive to have me stay, these men didn't have to go the extra step of trying to make me feel comfortable. They could've just had me suffer in silence this entire time as they drag me along to kill people as a witness, but they're legitimately doing their best to convince me that they want me here. I don't know how I didn't realize this earlier, what with Scout's outburst about knowing if I was dead or alive during my hiatus, and Engie feeling the need to secure me whenever I'm even the slightest bit upset, but I see it to its extent now. Medic smiles. "And when you asked if I prefer you more professional?"

"Yeah?"

"The way you are right now is just fine. You're doing it your way rather than Miss Pauling's way." He hums. _"Nur du."_

"Are you translating the lyrics?" I ask with a giggle.

He nods. The Platters in tenor German is just as great. _"Kannst deise Veränderungen in mir verursachen."_ He glances to his side and moves his hand to my shoulder. _"Den es ist whar."_ We bump into someone, and I stumble at the sudden impact, Medic quickly pulling his hand down to my waist to help me keep my balance. " _Oh, Das tut mir leid._ I am sorry. I'm afraid I have two feet that face leftward."

One of the Peytons feels his back and groans, his partner looking worried as she checks his backside for him. "Don't-- Don't worry, man."

"Richard? Your face looks flushed," the woman comments. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Medic asks, knowing full well what he did.

"Yeah, yes. I'm fine. Let's go sit down," he says to his date. She rubs his shoulder as she leads him back, his complexion turning sickly. Medic and I continue to dance until the end of the song, keeping an eye on his status. Medic chuckles when both Richard and Renard stand up to leave the ballroom, the former needing to lean on the latter for support. Sniper and Soldier stand up from the table, and Medic leads me off of the dancefloor.

"Our mission is nearing its end," Medic says as we exit into the hallway. "This time, we stay together, _verstanden?_ "

"All yours," Miss Pauling pants as she and Spy intercept us. "They're more than likely going back to their cabins, so feel free to let loose in there. Pyro is about to light the deck, so you better get going. Demo is going to meet you there, and then Heavy will assist with the throwaway. Get it done, Fredrickson."

Spy hands Medic a deadly looking tool with a large needle at the end, the doctor smiling at it. "Ah, my Vita-Saw rather than the Übersaw. _Ich sehe, dass du wirklich willst, dass sie leiden,_ Spy." Sniper and Soldier lead us to the lobby, the four of us getting as far as a receptionist desk before having our attention grabbed by Bailey. Or someone who just looks like him again. Sniper grumbles, opening his jacket and loading his submachine gun, Soldier following and taking a shovel out as Bailey escapes. Medic and I make our way to the suites, Medic counting cabin numbers until we reach our destination. He taps the back of his hand to my thigh, to which I respond with a frown.

"Confirming that you still have your defense is all." He turns to the door and knocks. " _Hallo?_ Mr. Peyton?"

Renard opens the door, sweat laced on his face. "W-what do you want?"

"I'm a doctor. I saw that Richard was not feeling well, so I'd like to take a look at him is that's alright?"

Stress presses his eyelids open, his pupils beating along with his heart. He lets us in and leads us to the bathroom, Richard hunched over the toilet, shaking, and heaving, his shirt wrinkled and top button unbuttoned. The woman sits next to him with her back to the counter, dead. What did Medic do to them?

Richard looks up, disheveled, and wipes his mouth. "You did s-some fin two be."

"What was that?" Medic asks, almost snide.

"You deed, you, you, who deed sun fin to m-m--" his eyes twitch, and she looks as though he's trying to move his legs, which are doing so in the slightest. Oh my goodness, he's having a stroke.

"Take your time," Medic says. Every inch of my being wants to flee. I want to leave. I can't be a part of this anymore. Richard struggles to speak to him, unable to get his words right.

"What's wrong with him?" Renard asks, fear in his voice. 

"Aphasia," Medic tells. "Your brother is having a stroke, _Dummkopf_. Lucky for you, you won't have to suffer like he is." He grabs Renard and takes his Vita-Saw from his jacket pocket, jabbing it into his ribcage and squeezing the handle. The red liquid in the tube draining slightly into his body. It must've only been an ounce, but he stands there frozen. Petrified. Medic pushes him away, his body thudding to the floor. Foam and froth bubble out of his mouth as he twitches. His chest stops moving. Medic moves onto Richard, lifting his head by placing his hand on his forehead. He stabs into his neck, giving the same dosage as his brother. He doesn't struggle. He can't. He's gone in an instant. The Peytons have been terminated. "See the difference between injecting in the lungs and in the neck? I don't think you're strong enough to get past the ribcage anyway, so, as Sniper said, the neck would be better for you."

"I should go check on him and Soldier," I mumble, Heavy and Demo entering with the cart.

"Please do wait for me, I did say we'd stay together."

I go around them and change objectives, running out onto the open deck once I hear the fire alarm go off. Pyro and Samia stand together on the lower deck, both of them watching their work as an inferno blazes and turns the fabric of the cabanas to ashes and cinders. She doesn't look bothered in the slightest, hands on her hips as she smiles at the fire. The commotion of people snaps me from my trance, giving me a sense of urgency as this large crowd is going to be as unhelpful as possible. I run back inside, Medic grabbing my arm and pulling me close.

"There you are," he says.

"Have you seen Sniper?" I ask.

"Soldier told me he ran down to the lower level. We can assist him if we cross paths. With haste, yes?" He and I push against the crowd, yelling to get people to stay in their rooms as we pass open doors in the hallway. I take off my heels in the stairwell and put them back on as we search for Sniper, havoc wreaking on board. Crewmembers try to settle restless passengers in the lobby as we slip past with the excuse of going back to our cabins. We go past our own rooms and search the further halls for the Aussie, coming up with nothing. We return to the staircase, and we stand by the door. Our voices echo as we talk. "There's no telling where he is."

"Let's think about it," I suggest. "They could've gone down to the hull to mask the noise of his gun, or Sniper opted for something quieter and has already taken out Bailey."

"I suggest the hull," Medic conveys. We exit and go to the second door over, opening the door to the maintenance stairs. It's unlocked. I take off my heels again, Medic holding my shoulder at the top of the stairs before I start going down. He leans over and whispers into my ear. "No one ever hears anything down here, typically, but the engine has stopped because of the crisis. Listen." It's dead quiet. "At the very least, no one is around to hear _you._ "

He shoves me, and I tumble. There are metal corners at the end of each ledge that digs into my skin as I reach the floor with a thud, landing on my back and groaning as I hold onto my core. Checking my thigh in a panic, I'm relieved to reach for my undamaged syringe that rolls down the stairs. I replace it back under my skirt. He steps down slowly, his dress shoes tapping against the concrete. I flinch, slowly getting to my feet. "Medic, what the hell?"

"Now would be as good as a time as ever to test your resilience. Do try not to die so quickly, Miss Fredrickson," he taunts, showcasing his Vita-Saw. He gets to me, pushing me back further and pointing the needle at my neck. "Run. Go on. I'll give you a headstart."

I hobble away, my hip throbbing in pain when I try to sprint. Is he actually trying to kill me? Was he lying to me while we were dancing? My feet tap against the floor, and I try to slow my pace to lessen the noise I'm making. Medic can't really want me dead right now, that can't be the case. It absolutely is too ridiculous to think about. My life can't be in peril due to my own teammate, can it? I take a turn, Medic elbowing me in my chest and laughing as I fall to the ground. I struggle to move back quickly enough, turning back over onto my feet and powering through the pain to start gaining distance between us. 

My resolve is weak but my fear strong. I don't know if I'm outrunning certain death because I want to live or because I refuse to let Medic be the one to kill me. Medic was nice to me when I came to the fort. He made me coffee. He slept with his head in my lap on the boat. This is the same man who squished my cheeks together in a supply closet while we were supposed to be making a grand escape because he thought it was funny. Why is he trying to kill me? Why is he trying to do the same thing he stopped someone else from doing?

A hand grabs onto the back of my dress and pulls me, Medic throwing me into the wall and then slamming me onto the ground. All of the air in my body leaves as his shoe plants itself on my sternum. He walks around me, getting on top of me to keep me in place with his body weight. This is all too familiar. I gasp for air and weakly push his arms away until he gets fed up and smacks my hands away before smacking me across the face. I let out a whimper and stay staring at the water-damaged wall. A hand encases my neck, and I immediately shoot out my arm, catching him on the downward swing. The needle is longer than Sniper's kukri, just a hair away from puncturing me. I reach over his thigh with my free hand, picking up my skirt and pulling out my defense. The cap comes off as I press it against my skin, turning my head to Medic who has the smile of a maniac.

I'm sorry.

I drive my own weapon into his neck, slamming my fist down onto it and emptying the lethal drug into his bloodstream. I push him off as he begins to seize up, and I face the wall to not be a witness. Tears stream down my face. I sit for I don't know how long, feeling sorry for myself and the fact I murdered Medic. Footsteps approach and I look up to see Demo. "Miss Fredrickson."

My voice is weak. "I killed Medic." He drops to his knees on the ground with me and puts his hand on my shoulder. "I killed him."

"Naw, you didnae," he says.

"I-I-I made him overdose, h-he's dead, Demo," I utter, hiccuping. Demo sighs and leans me over, my head in his chest as he turns me to look at him. 

"Lass, ye didnae kill Doc," he sighs, smoke clearing from the body. Bailey lays there in Medic's place. "His disguise hadnae worn off yet."

I--" I sniff, failing to find the words to describe anything. I grab onto Demo's shirt, his arms encasing me. Soldier and Medic find us not long after, the real Medic remaining silent on the situation as he has bruises and scuff marks to show for a fight he probably had to put up. Demo helps me up, an arm around my back as we slowly make our way out. "Medic, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Accomplice," he winces as we start up the stairs. "You were very proficient with administering the syringe, I commend you for that." Soldier keeps looking back at me as I wipe my face. 

"You did well, son," he adds. "For your first time dealing with a spy, you did well."


	30. Thirty: 'Til it Runneth Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Scout)
> 
> Wow, uh, holy shit. I really wasn't expecting her to just... Collapse like that. I'm not exactly what would be a perfect fit for dealing with people's issues, and I certainly can't do anything about what Accomplice is going through. Engie sounds like he has it under control, but he's ruining any shots I have with Accomplice because of how he's always putting on this "Great Guy Engie" act when I'm around. I don't think I even want to date Accomplice at all anymore, it's just a matter of preserving my pride at this point. 
> 
> Still, I can't help but feel bad for her since neither of us can really do anything for her. I thought she was better put together than I am, but we're really similar to each other in a lot more ways than I thought.

A flight attendant checks over the aisles, and I remain silent with my eyes closed until she's gone. It's dark and quiet, cold worst of all. My eyes are dry and puffy. Maybe I should've asked the hostess for another napkin. I sniff, staving off from sobbing. I've sunk too low. It's all here. I can't take it anymore. I'm seriously at my limit. I have to get out.

_Oh my god,"_ Miss Pauling whispers as she stirs from her nap. _"Are you crying?"_

My ears haven't popped completely, so it's difficult to hear. "N-no."

"You better not be," she hisses, anger woven into her voice. "I don't understand why you're crying. You wanted the job, you got the job. You're going to get paid as a mercenary for what you did, which wasn't even much to begin with. Why are you even sad? Because you killed people?"

"Yeah," I admit, feeling out of breath. The hum of the plane makes me feel alone.

"Get a grip. That's what you're going to be doing for the rest of your life." She shifts in her seat. "You didn't want to talk to me about any of your problems when you came back home, so we're definitely not going to talk about it now. You'll just have to deal with that yourself. I'm a lesbian, Fredrickson, not a therapist. You got yourself into this shit, so you're going to see yourself out of it however you please."

I turn away from her as she settles back in. She's so mean, why is she so mean? I lean my head against the cold window, hoping the temperature change would do something for me, which it doesn't. I still feel horrible. Not a word was exchanged between us during the rest of the flight home. The entirety of the cabin was silent, not one person making a peep. I clean myself up as we deplane, looking presentable enough to where I just seem tired rather than an absolute disgrace to Miss Pauling. We pick up baggage and separate into our different vehicles in the garage. Sniper and Miss Pauling go in his van so he can drop her off back at our apartment. Heavy, Spy, Medic, Pyro, and Demo load into one of the company vans, Heavy choosing to drive as he's the biggest one there. Engie taps my arm, Scout behind him, and beckons me over to his truck. Miss Pauling eyes me before she slides into her seat. Engie takes my luggage from me and loads it into the back of his truck. I sit in between the two of them, Engie grunting as he scooches into place and flips his hardhat on. 

"Being back in the usual digs feels much better," he comments. "Maybe we'll get ya some digs, too."

"Not opposed to seeing Accomplice in red," Scout says.

"Getting her in a uniform is not much of a priority, but it's something to think about."

We pull out of the garage, starting down the desert highway. Quiet and desolate. All there is to see in front of us is road and sand. The moon decided against showing herself tonight. Engie turns on the radio and taps his thumbs on the steering wheel as we ride in complete darkness. Scout settles in and shifts to the side, leaning his head on my shoulder to sleep. I'm isolated. I'm alone. My eyes warm and my vision blurs. How many have I killed now, two? Three people? Five if you count the other guy who looked like Bailey? George, the guy in the brig, and the two real Baileys. Four people in total that I dealt with myself. 

The cracks start to form, and I sniffle a few times as I try to keep my nose from running. The corners of my eyes burn from the raw skin that has formed from all of the rubbing I've done. I blink and a few tears escape me, Engie turning on the lamp overhead for a brief moment to look at me. "Ope, cryin'. Why are we cryin'?"

"It's nothing, I'm fine," I feign, not doing a very convincing job to get him off of my back. Scout sits up, squinting to see me in the shadows.

"People don't cry for nothing, Accomplice, what's botherin' you?"

"I'm fine, Engie, dear," I push.

"Hell, this again," Engie exhales. The dam breaks, and I can't hold any of it back. Just the mere notion of Engie being just as horrible to me broke my limit. The more I wipe it away, the faster it comes out. I give up when my hands are drenched in sorrow and droplets fall onto my lap. My only answer is to sit here and sob, any self-preservation I have left washing out as I belt out squalling like a baby in front of them both. Engie flips on the light again, and I switch it back off. "I didn't mean for that to come out that way, I'm sorry. I know that you don't like what we do, but you have to at this point."

"I know," I whisper, my face in my hands with the hope that keeping my eyes closed would stop the tears. "I'm not cut out for this."

"Which is obvious. You're too kind for that sorta mess and it's eatin' at ya."

"I'm not cut out for dealing with you guys either," I add. 

"Whaddya mean?" Engie asks. 

"I don't know how to organize any of you, we're always on different pages, I haven't done any official paperwork because Miss Pauling doesn't trust me," I gasp, keeping my volume down, "I'm just here. I'm not adding anything to the team. I never know what's going on going half the time, and I'm pretty sure some of you are pretending to like me."

"Pretending?" Scout inquires, sounding offended. "What makes you think we're pretending? Who do you think is pretending?"

"Heavy, Demo, you," I almost choke on my own spit. "Spy."

"Spy hates everyone, don't worry about him. Yeah, we all act different, but I mean, c'mon. Engie and I are, what, thirteen--?"

"Sixteen, bouta be seventeen," Engie answers.

"We're sixteen years apart from each other. Hell, Heavy and I are... Carry the one..."

"Twenty, bouta be twenty-one" Engie inputs.

"Heavy and I are twenty years apart from each other. We almost never agree on anything together, Accomplice. You're cool with all of us, actually."

"But you yelled at me." My nose burns.

"Yeah, because that shit pissed me off!" Scout groans. "You'd be fucking mad if someone just never told you that they were alive. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks we thought you were fucking dead."

"Simmer down," Engie quietly slides in.

I swallow before I talk. "No, no, I get it. I, I get it. I've felt the same way. The only difference is that we never found out. Just passing the torch of pain is all," I sigh. "My parents just disappeared one day. Got up and left without a trace. Not even a note. We still don't know if they'd be alive at this point. They'd..." I sniff and runs my hands down my face. "They'd be about Heavy's age at this point, I think."

"It's not gonna make you feel any better, but my dad walked out on me as a baby," Scout shares, even though I felt I was oversharing myself. "All of my brothers' dads did. I, uh, I kinda know what you're feeling."

Engie exhales slowly through his nose. "It felt like my daddy went missing. He'd come around every now and again since he lived there, but he was always workin'. Never home. This job took him away and looky where I am now," he grumbles and scratches his chin.

We ride in silence. I told them too much, I'll regret it later. I smirk at how much like shit I must resemble. "I should be dead, Engie."

"Whoa, hey, who said anythin' like that?" He shuts the radio off, panic in his voice.

"I shouldn't be here," I chuckle. "I died once already, and it should've stayed that way. You ever think that my life being in danger constantly isn't because of the job but because God is trying to correct an error we made?"

"Don't you go calling yourself an error, Mona, because that is _not_ what you are," he sternly grits. "Everything happens for a reason, so you being alive and sittin' in my damn truck and making a mess of yourself right now is happening for a reason. Might not be a reason you like, but it's a reason nonetheless."

"Engie, I should be de--"

"Uh-uh, nope. No, you're not," he insists as he grabs my hand. His voice gets louder. "I know a thing or two about verifyin' the validity of someone's life, and yours is pretty high up there, Miss Ma'am."

"C'mon, think about it," I sigh with a dejected laugh. He interrupts.

"Quit the shit," he huffs. "I swear to the Lord right now, Mona, if you don't stop talking bad about yourself right now--"

"Engie, she's kind of--" Scout tries to interject.

"I will beat you sideways like a work mule, boy, shut your yappin'. If you were meant to be dead, you'd be dead. If you were meant to be dead, Medic wouldn't have revived ya. Miss Pauling wouldn't have found ya. Any way you look at it, Mona, you're still breathing and having a time about it right next to me in the land of the living." His fingers intertwine with mine. "Don't you _dare_ ever oppose that."

We're quiet. His large hands engulf mine as if they're giving mine a hug. Scout continues.

"Did... Did Miss Pauling ever talk to you about any of this? Like, girl talk or whatever?" He questions.

"She also yelled at me on the plane."

"She's blunt, to put it forward," Engie starts more calmly as he slowly releases my hand. I keep my fingers closed, and he closes his again, too, "but you don't have to do it all on your own. Miss Pauling is used to toughing it out by herself, but that's just because she was born into doing this work like I was. Her family did it, so she has to, too. You and a lot of the team have that much in common: you've never touched contract killing before learning about Team Fortress. Your motives for doing so might be similar, too."

"I came to settle debt," I say. "I have to take care of three other people who live in a different state, only one of them works. We've been underwater for over a decade, so I had to do something about it. At the very least, the money from this contract should lessen the blow." 

"Yeah, yeah, uhm, I kill people to help out my Ma. She's not doing the best right now," Scout quickly tells to relate to me. That's probably the most I've told anyone on the team about myself, and it doesn't even scratch the surface of issues I'm dealing with.

"Accomplice, don't think that we don't like you," the Texan makes his headlights brighter. "If we didn't, we woulda shot ya by now."

I remain silent, Scout piling on. "He's- He's right, though."

"You didn't help me on the yacht."

"Whaddya mean?" Engie flips his attention between the road and me.

"When I was fighting the other chick in the engine room, you just stood there. All of you did. It's not like she has years of experience or anything, and all of you--"

"Okay, okay, slow down. There's a reason why I didn't help." I let go of his hand as he has to take a turn.

"What? What was the reason?" I ask, getting flustered with more tears.

"I mean," he hesitates, "I- er- you--"

"What was the reason? It's not like you were occupied or anything, you guys were just standing there."

"To be honest, I wasn't even looking, you--"

"So you ignored it?" 

"No, no, it's none of that, Accomplice. Uh-- How do I put this?" His pitch raises as he tries to dispute my claims. I think I'm getting dehydrated if I'm not already. "You're _well-endowed,_ let's just say."

Scout moves his hands around. "Wha- Wha-- _Oh. Oh-hoh-hoh._ So you're telling me her top slipped?"

"Don't be telling the entire fort about it," Engie grumbles. "I didn't wanna be a Peeping Tom, so I just... _Looked elsewhere_."

I don't know what else to do other than laugh. It's so stupid and embarrassing to think that out of all of the possible explanations as to why I was fighting alone with a person who out-matched me, my breasts being exposed was the route we decided to take. No one else said anything about it, so was that just going to be a secret between the four of them? It must've only been an issue during the fight because everything was alright when I collected myself and my bag afterward. My throat is raw, but I can't stop laughing. My stomach hurts as I begin to wheeze, both Scout and Engie left speechless about the ordeal. Coughing ensues afterward as I try to calm myself, a few giggles still escaping me. "I would've really appreciated the assist, Engie, but I do thank you for respecting my chastity."

"It was the sensible thing to do, don't need to thank me," he shrugs. "You feeling a bit better?"

"Just a bit," I smile. None of my problems are going to be solved overnight, but acknowledging that they're there for once creates the space in which I can try to do something about them. This might've been the first time I connected with any of the guys in any way, even if it's a thread as small as a spider web. Scout's in the same boat as me when it comes to why he chose to be a mercenary, and from what Engie told me on the cruise, he's still new to a lot of things despite being on the team for six years. 

"Do believe we promised you a beer," Engie mentions, bumping my arm with his elbow. "Over a month ago, of course, but a beer however you wanna look at it."

"And a promise is a promise," I convey, wiping my face for the nth time tonight. Coming back to the fort doesn't feel like home. It's familiar, but it doesn't elicit any positive emotions from me. We're the first ones there, giving me some time to duck away to my room to wash my face in the bathroom and look presentable. I hear Heavy's door open on the other side, and I quickly grab a towel to dry my face. He talks with Medic, and I slip out of the house to go back to the main building. 

I return to Engie's garage, stepping to the side to let Soldier and Pyro run by me. Engie opens his fridge and pops the bottle cap off of a beer with his teeth. I notice the label on it. _**BLU Streak.**_ Engie follows my gaze and looks at his bottle. "Old habits die hard. I mean, I like it." He holds it out for me take it, and I have a reluctant swig, regretting my decision but downing what I had anyway with a soured expression. Engie chuckles. "Yep, it's not for everyone. You seem like a RED Shed gal anyway." Demo walks past us, going to the corner of the room and jumping onto a mechanism on the ground. He spins as he lands, his body disappearing with a flash. I stare at the machine on the ground, Engie nonchalantly saying "Teleporter" as he drinks. Scout pushes Engie aside to get to the fridge, pulling out an aluminum can. The older man grumbles. "Don't go puttin' anything else in my damn fridge now."

"Don't worry, Hardhat," Scout eases as he leans against the door, popping the tab. "It's only the _Bonk!_ "

"What even is that?"

"A heart attack in a can," Medic says as he and Heavy let themselves in. 

Scout hands it to me as if he was expecting me to try it as well, but I read over the ingredients instead. That's... A lot of caffeine. "And you drink this how often?"

"Daily." Scout takes it back from me and takes a sip.

"Scout has showcased caffeine withdrawal many times, but he claims he doesn't have an addiction," Medic inputs.

"'Cause I don't."

"Mmm, denial, my most favorite disease," Medic crosses his arms. "The most common diagnosis amongst this group."

"No, it ain't," Engie disputes, dropping his argument when Medic gives him a smug simper. "Darn, walked right into that one."

"Where is the intoxication juice, maggots?" Soldier asks as he shoves in between Medic and Heavy.

The teleporter flashes, and Demo spins in with a sombrero and crate full of beer, whooping as he raises a bottle. Everyone in the garage starts whooping, too, and I stand there in slight fear of what's happening around me. Engie glances at me and chuckles at the mild terror I'm experiencing. "Bit of an inside joke, darlin'." Demo hands me the beer in his hand, and Engie takes it from me to pop the cap off. Spy comes in with his own glass of whiskey from what I can assume is a personal collection.

"I would like to make a toast," he proposes.

"Screw the words, cheers to booze!" Scout objects.

"No, no, please. For Accomplice's sake," Spy stops him.

Scout rolls his eyes, taking Spy's glass to seem more formal. "I, the Scoutmeister, humbly submit a toast to Accomplice, for successfully surviving her first contract. Congratulations, Accomplice, enjoy your fucking blood money spoils." He downs the whiskey in the glass and smacks his lips, giving it back to Spy who groans and leaves to go get more. He coughs afterward, straining to talk. "I, I am now aware that that was _not_ bourbon butscotch." Scout clears his throat and recuperates from his experience, the entire room watching as he leans over his shoulders coughing. 

_"Alcohol!"_ Soldier yells finally, holding out his beer.

_"Alcohol!"_ We all rejoice, clinking bottles together as we've decided that that would be our official toast. Demo sets the crate down on a table as I opt to sit on one of the workbenches. The workshop is cleaner than what I remember since Engie hasn't had time to live in it. A few things are new, like the wall that has shelves full of toolboxes. I have never known a man that has ever needed that many tools. A portrait of an old man rests on the wall behind the door of all places, almost as though he's left to be forgotten. Engie bumps his fist with mine to capture my attention.

"Tomorrow is gonna be pretty slow in terms of doing much of anything. You've obviously got your business to take care of, but if you'd like to swing by here, you're always welcome."

"An' for me, too, lass," Demo slurs, standing next to me and holding onto the workbench. I adjust his sombrero so I can look him in the eye. "Yer welcome down in me, in me..." He burps as he thinks about his next words, rambling nonsense. 

"Demo, obviously, builds bombs. He works down in the basement. Call it the bunker," Scout joins. He starts to flex his biceps. "Yep, ah. Or, you can workout with Heavy, Soldier, Eng--"

"Nope," Engie cuts him off.

"Heavy, Soldier, and I in the gym."

"I live with Heavy, so I think I'd have to get to know him better anyway," I say as I drink some more. 

"Ah, hey, and all of you just bloody started without me," Sniper rings as he picks up a beer from the crate, sliding a stack of files from Miss Pauling next to me. "Coulda had you come up to my tower, Luv."

"Didn't Heavy say he needed you in the gym tomorrow anyway?" Scout asks as he points to Sniper with his can in hand.

"Aw, piss, you're right," Sniper opens two beers at the same time with each other, Engie protesting when some of it spills. "Accomplice, too."

"Hmm, me?" I question as Sniper hands me the second beer bottle.

"Oi, Heavy, what are we--"

"You will see," Heavy smacks his hand onto Sniper's mouth, covering the entirety of his face. Sniper stumbles back and almost knocks over the beer crate, Engie creating a commotion as he's quick on his feet to prevent the mess from happening. "Just know that Doctor is involved."

_"Jawoh?"_ Medic turns to him from Spy and lifts an eyebrow at his name being mentioned. "I am being involved in something?"

**"Да, это правда."**

Spy sits on a nearby stool, swirling his glass. "This will be interesting, to say the least."

"If you say so," I mumble as I tip my bottle upward. "We'll have to get back into the swing of things, and I have to hand out your contracts. I can do that tomorrow while making my rounds before going to see whatever you- what?- seven are going to be up to in the gym."

"Not seven, four," Heavy corrects. "Only you, Doctor, Sniper, and Heavy."

"Wait, we're not allowed to watch?" Scout asks. Heavy shakes his head and he groans. "I'd pay good money to see that shit if they're gonna fight, man, c'mon!"

The two of them bicker, and separate conversations pop up around the room amongst the guys. Pyro slips back in and quietly gets a beer of his own, sticking a straw in the neck and the other end into his mask. I smirk at the oddity but still hold my bottle out regardless, earning a muffled _'cheers'_ from Pyro. Medic watches him from across the room, downing the rest of his beer in rapid succession before getting another. Miss Pauling wasn't kidding when she said they can hold their own.

Team Fortress are lovely people when drunk, Demo grabbing ahold of Soldier and I as he makes a barely understandable argument on why Soldier is his best friend as if anyone would have challenged that stance, given if I had known about the strength of this dynamic beforehand. Soldier does nothing but stand there and cry, hugging him as he gives some very patriotic and moving words of his own on the status of their relationship. Engie stopped drinking after his fourth beer, grabbing his guitar and playing light songs that cause Medic to go and scramble for his accordion, both of them playing The Beatles as any self-respecting drunk musician would. Pyro cut himself off at one, sitting on the ground and listening attentively. Engie at first tried to accommodate for Medic who stopped after I don't know how many, but his fingers tap precisely on the keys. If anything, he plays more accurately when drunk.

Medic calls me over to them in the middle of my story-time with Scout and Spy where Scout is telling the story and Spy is either amending or outright denying Scout did anything until the Frenchman ultimately got up and walked away. The German pulls me over and gently picks Engie's guitar out of his grasp, handing it to Pyro, to stand him up. Medic smiles smugly as he has us face each other, and I giggle. "Medic, what on Earth are you doing?"

"Now," he puts his hands out as he makes a disclaimer, English isn't the best for me, but-" he picks up his accordion around is neck again and taps some of the keys to get the notes right, "I do apologize for cutting your dance short."

"We were there for work," I say, "not leisure."

"But still," he continues to press random keys and ghost taps a few of them as if he's speeding through a song. "It's been a while since I've seen my dear friend Dr. Hell here, uh, uh... _A_ _müsieren Sie sich."_ He cheekily smiles at Engie who puts his hands on his hips. 

"Doc, what're you doing?"

Medic widens his eyes as he looks at the floor, sighing. _"Und Sie sagen, Sie haben elf Doktoranden."_ He frowns as he figures something out. "Er, Demo, you play piano, yes?"

"Aye," he groggily agrees.

_"Komm bitte her,"_ he beckons him and pulls up a second stool as he sits where Engie was. He whispers into Demo's ear and the both of them sit down.

Engie grits his teeth. "Hey, now. You're, uh, worrying me, Doc." Everyone else caught on that something was happening and are waiting attentively to see what unfolds. Medic's confident he's got it, so he starts to play... Elvis. He's playing Elvis. And not just any Elvis song. 

_"Wise men say,"_ Medic starts with his accent really jumping out at him. _"Only fools rush in."_ He nods as if to motion to us _'go ahead and dance, Dummkopfs.'_

"M-Medic--" Engie stutters.

"You might as well," Scout inputs as he calls from his perch on one of the tables. "We were watching from the table anyway."

Medic stops playing. "Are you going to or not?"

My mouth gapes. "Er--"

"I shall be going home and taking Demoman home as well," Spy says, leading our wasted bomb-specialist out of the garage. "I wish you all a good night."

"Good night Spy, Demo," I say, waving goodbye as I turn to Sniper. "They don't live here?"

"Nope." He leans against the bench next to me. "Mates have their own houses 'ere so they don't gotta deal with us lot all the time. Think I'll head to bed, too. Better be ready, Freddie, for tomorrow."

"For what?" I exasperate. 

"Be ready," he repeats. "I don't have a bloody damn clue either."

Heavy puts his hand on Medic's shoulder. "We should go to sleep. Is very late."

"No, no, Misha." He points to me and Engie. Engie looks at me and quietly murmurs under his breath, gently holding out a hand. Scout butts in.

"Do I get a dance, too?"

Engie pushes his face away. "Boy, it's past your bedtime." Soldier hits Scout's back when he starts to protest and drags him along with him. I give a gentle smile as Engie gives me a shy grin and extends his hand again. I take it, and he brings me into another hug, Medic starts up again and Engie begins swaying. I'm shorter than him this time, so his hands rest more comfortably on the small of my back. 

_"Like a river flows,"_ Medic sings, _"Surely to the sea,"_ Engie wraps his arm all the way around my waist. _"Darling, so it goes."_ His other hand rubs my back, and he gently groans when I move in even closer to him. _"Some things were just meant to be."_

Engie lifts his head slightly and slowly releases me. "Aw, darn, three in the morning? How'd it get so late?"

"It's three?" Medic asks as he still plays the song in the back. "It's the new month, you know what this means?"

I rest my hands on Engie's shoulder and back up some to look at him. "No, what does it mean?"

Heavy stands him up and carries his instrument for him, Medic taking another beer from the box to-go, lifting it into the air, and yelling from the hallway. _"Oktoberfest, Dummkopfs!"_

Right, it's October now. But doesn't that start in September? Regardless, a little over a whole month now have I been dipping my toes into the world of mercenaries. Thinking about the changing of seasons makes me homesick. I haven't visited Salvador in a while, but there's a good chance I can once Thanksgiving rolls around. How would that work? If we have work during that time, then I might not be able to go back home. I certainly don't want him coming here. My family stays out of this. They don't have to know. Engie sighs and lets go of me. I didn't want him to. It's been a while since I've had a genuine hug, and I wasn't ready to let that feeling go. Pyro helps out with cleaning up, and I do, too, Engie telling us to keep the bottles since he said he has a tendency to reuse things in some crafty ways. 

"Accomplice," Engie quietly stops me from leaving after Pyro leaves his garage. "You sure you're alright?"

"No," I sweetly say. "But we're gonna work on it."

"Ah, uh- I said it once, but I'll say it as many times as I need to in the future: Don't be a stranger if you ever need anything. I can't speak for the rest of the team, but you're welcome to stop by here whenever you need or want. Chances are that I'm in since I'm working on one thing or another. Same thing for the houses outside, just knock whenever. It's just as likely that I'm awake."

"I wouldn't want to be a bother to you."

He puts his hands up. "No, no! You wouldn't be botherin' me, dear, don't worry about it."

I giggle. _"Dear."_ He tilts his head slightly. "I called you that _once,_ and off you went." It wasn't even a special occasion since it was more embarrassing than anything as I took his order as a waitress. He still holds onto it, though.

He shrugs. "I'll call you 'Darlin'' if you much prefer," he warmly smiles. I smile back at him. 

"If that's what floats your boat."

"You should get to bed, Accomplice," he pulls me into a hug that I gladly accept.

"Aw, this isn't very professional of us," I joke.

He pushes me away and pats my shoulders as he sees me off. "I'm your friend right now, not your coworker."

"You consider us friends?"

"You don't?"

"No, no, I do. I just didn't think any of you would be willing to take me in so early," I exhale as I pat his shoulder back. "Thank you for being a good friend. Good night, Engie," I depart as I stand in the doorway. 

"Night," he returns. "Love ya." I stop and turn to look at him with a confused smirk. He stands with an awkward grin as he turns away chuckling, taking off his hardhat to rub his head. "That was- that was supposed to sound more friendly, eh-heh..."

Pulling the door close, I giggle. "Love you, too."


	31. Thirty-One: Ready, Freddie?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Sniper)
> 
> Gah, getting my backside beat by a tiny Sheila isn't exactly the highlight of my bloody year. All I'm tryin' to do is help her, and she makes me out to be the fucking piker and opposes everything I do. Defo, she and I have issues, but I'm at least the bloke trying to fix it. She's still afraid of me, that's for sure, and I'm trying to show that I'm not a dag. It would be all ace if she just _admitted _that she's scared to me rather than having Heavy resort to makin' us beat it out of one another.__

My alarm clock goes off, and my heart pings as I get out of bed to walk across my room to my desk to shut it off. It is a brand-spanking-new day at the fort, and the promise of nothing bad happening is looking strong. A gun sits next to my papers, and I take a few moments to process that everyone carries their weapons at all times. It wasn't there when I went to bed. Who... Who put that there?

_"Buenos dias, C_ _ómplice!"_ Soldier blares as he bursts into my room, my door slamming against the wall. I hold the gun in my hand, acting as though I was legitimately about to do something with it. "Why are you holding a gun?"

"Why are you breaking into people's homes at six-thirty in the morning?" I answer rhetorically.

"PT time, _el gusano_. That's Spanish for _maggot_ ," he rumbles. Heavy opens the bathroom door already dressed, staring at Soldier. "We are going to go run a mile."

**"Нет, мы не,"** Heavy opposes and closes the door again. 

"Scout and I will be running a mile," Soldier announces. "Do you want to--"

"No," I scoff. "No, I do not want to run a mile."

"Your PT Beast score is going to be docked until you do," he threatens. "I'll catch you on the make-up day. Your mile time will be _mine,_ sister." He closes my front door, and Scout can be heard a few seconds after, taunting Soldier about how much faster he is. 

This oddly enough reminds me of how Heavy said I should be ready today. For what? Who knows. Can never go wrong with wine pants and an amethyst dress shirt. I open the bathroom door, Heavy standing at his sink with an electric shaver. He looks at my reflection in the mirror and rubs his chin. "Are you ready?"

"For what? No one has told me what I'm supposed to be ready for."

"You will see," he says

"Then no, I'm not ready," I whisper to myself. Heavy picks up and leaves, and I take a shower and brush my teeth before getting dressed. I take my gun and my papers, taking a deep breath as I shut my door behind me. Miss Pauling did me a favor by writing down notes on the contracts to help me narrow down who would be the best for each job. She also suggested that I get the team to sit down together every once and a while to address things happening at the fort, upcoming events, relaying information from the Administrator to them, and just to check in to let them know I care. She didn't say it exactly like that, but I choose to see it as me making sure the guys know I care.

The sun peaks over the top of the building and paints the sky a lemon yellow. Scout sprints past me in full stride with a greeting and I yell a "good morning" back to him.

Medic stands in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee to shake off last night's hangover. _"Guten Morgen."_

"Hi, Medic," I sigh as I seat myself at one of the tables. I think there might have been a contract for Medic, I'm not too sure. "Hey, do you have any clue what Heavy is planning?"

He chuckles. "I usually don't. I'm used to going along with whatever the rest of the team says."

"You, too?"

"You'd be surprised how much of your work used to fall on me, Spy, and Engineer," he tells. "But, yes. I spend most of my time following someone different during the tides of war and such." He sits down and sets a coffee mug down in front of me when taking a sip of his own.

"Thank you. What do you mean by that?" I ask.

"We've been on local ceasefire for quite some time now, but I'd run alongside whoever needed healing during a battle with whatever team the Administrator sent us out to fight," Medic tells, picking up his pencil and newspaper. "I don't know if she'd authorize you to participate, but it'll be exciting to have a new member contribute her own abilities in such a match."

"Which wouldn't be much, so I'd curb your enthusiasm, Doc." 

"Nonsense," he fights. I skim over my files as he starts reading his paper. Jeez, these guys get paid a lot. From what I understand, the mercenaries are hired either through best fit or specialized requests. Most contracts are best fits from what Miss Pauling briefly explained before dropping me off for the first time. The client in question describes how they want someone to die, pays the money upfront, and then the guys get to work. Some contracts are vaguer than others, many marked with some form of the phrase "just get it done." Apparently, these guys also do jobs that aren't related to contracts that are connected to this "ceasefire" thing Medic brought up. What makes a ceasefire local? 

"I have something for you: _'My mother is in a nursing home and just won't die fast enough for me to collect the familial inheritance. One hundred thousand to start, and then three hundred thousand will be paid in full once the papers are in order.'_ That made me feel grimy inside just reading," I shudder.

"This is average work for me, _Es ist nichts worüber man sich sorgen muss,_ " Medic shrugs it off as he skims. "Simple. It's nearby, so I'll just go during their night shift, turn up her morphine, and come right back home. I find it weird how people don't just do it themselves, but I'm not one to complain."

"You must be loaded if they pay you this much each time," I comment.

"The Administrator deducts taxes as we are still employees for Reliable Excavation Demolition after all," he takes a sip of his coffee and glances at me. "But, yes, I'm fairly well off." He looks outside and stands up, standing in the doorway. "Would you like to see something?"

"What?" He clicks his tongue and beckons for someone or something in German. A flock of doves laughs as they land on the concrete pavement of the plaza. Archimedes Two takes his usual spot on Medic's shoulder and nips at his ear as Medic whispers to him. I get up and stand next to Medic, watching the avians peck around the dirt. "Are they trained to do that?"

"Yes and no," Medic answers. "They aren't native to this area so they'd die without my care, but they also just like having me around. Isn't that right, _Archimedes der Zweite?_ " He turns his attention to the bird and smiles as Archimedes Two starts to perform what I think is a mating dance of some kind. "The bow-coo. An expression of a male that's happy. Doves are highly emotive, gentle creatures. Signs of peace. Lovely to have them around even if they carry quite the messy habits. Did you know--"

"Aye, Doc, you'll bore the poor lass tae death," Demo and Spy interrupt him, Demo shooing the birds away. Medic grumbles.

"Correction, I'd only bore _you._ If she wasn't interested, she could've told me herself," Medic rolls his eyes and sits down at the table again, Archimedes Two balancing on his head as he boomeranged back to Medic.

"Birds are one of my favorite animals, Medic, so you'd have been just fine. Good morning you two," I start to talk as I go to dig through my papers. "I have contracts, right... Here." 

Spy reviews his sheet. _"Merci beaucoup."_ He looks over the terms, folding his contract up and sliding it inside of his jacket with a smile. _"Je te verrai bientôt, mon petit chou-fleur."_

"Wife?" I inquire, assuming that calling someone a cauliflower is a playful thing.

"Ah," he shakes his head. "Old friend."

"How long will your contracts take?" I ask, starting to realize that some of them might be gone for a while.

"From what I saw? A week at most."

"Two days," Demo says, "but I dinnae have to leave until two Fridays from now, Hen."

"And today's Saturday... Was Engie in his garage?"

_"Oui,"_ Spy confirms. "Medic, Heavy was looking for you near the gymnasium."

"I shall go accompany him, then," Medic decides, rolling up his paper and putting it under his arm as he puts his pencil in his pocket, taking his coffee in his free hand with Archimedes Two still mounted on his head. "Friendly reminder I'm making dinner since it is officially _Oktoberfest!_ "

_"Hell yeah, Oktoberfest!"_ Scout shouts as he runs by to take another lap. 

"Doesn't Oktobe--"

"Two things, Accomplice. _Eins_ : Ifyou're going to say it, you must express it with German passion. _Zwei:_ I am well aware that we are no longer in September. However, I am not Bavarian and I missed _Wies’n_ this year with my parents for our cruise, so I make up for it here by cooking meals you'd find at a typical celebration. We've also discussed at great lengths how the event does not fall in line with the month it sounds like, so we just decided to make our own _Oktoberfest!_ last the entirety of the month." He sips his coffee. "Oh, but listen to me ramble! Wir sprechen später~" He sings as he leaves. "Ta-ta!"

I excuse myself as I pack up my things and leave with my coffee mug. Small hints of deja vu poke at my brain as I open the door to Engie's garage. He sits at one of his tables, welding two panes of metal together. I wait until he turns the torch off before tapping his shoulder to grab his attention. 

"Mornin' Accomplice," he rings, flipping his face shield up. "You gonna be with me today? We're still contractors with an honest-to-god workin' company, so I'll be settin' up defenses for a new site they're putting up. It's ah- uh... Con Co.! That's what it was." 

"Ooh, sounds interesting... I don't know, depends on what Heavy needs me for later. Hey, I've got this for you."

He looks it over and grumbles. _"Utah."_

"You don't like Utah?"

"Nope. Might be a bit better if you come along, though," he smiles at me. "Give ya experience, too."

"I'll ask Miss Pauling about that. Are you growing out your beard?"

He rubs his fingers down the sides of his chin. "Uh, yes'm Ma'am, I am. Winter season's comin' up, and it helps me stay a bit cozy. Grow it out on the top of my head, too."

I softly smile. "It'll be a sight to see, that's for sure. I can't really imagine you with hair." Pyro jogs in, holding his hand out for Engie to pass the welding torch. He takes notice of me and hums in curiosity. "No contract for you, sweetie, sorry."

_"Heh puhdeh,"_ he dismisses and takes the torch from Engie, the Texan instructing him on what needs to be put together. 

"Let's come over here-" Engie leads me farther to the door as Pyro turns on the torch, "He likes to help out in here for, uh, obvious reasons. I let him from time to time so I can get to workin' on something else. He's a bit of my apprentice and he ain't too shabby at it, neither. Heard Demo's also taken him under his wing."

"So, a lot of the team's skills could be combined. That makes sense."

"Yes'm Ma'am," he grins. What would an accomplice do? I'd just help, yes, but what would I _do?_ Do I make work easier for them? Like, hypothetically, would I be a Nurse to Medic's Doctor? Would I help him heal people faster? "Ah, hey, darlin', I'm guessing you know your way around a workbench, dontcha?"

"You'd be... _Correct._ Depends. I know things in practice, I don't know technical terms."

"Come around some time, and I'll be happy to get ya all read up on it. What with all of your dismemberin', I could probably teach you how to fix a circular--"

"Accomplice,"Heavy says. Engie and I look behind us to meet his gaze. "Follow me."

"I'll take you up on that Engie." I wave to Engie and quicken my pace to keep up with the man that's a foot taller than me. We walk past Medic's clinic and hang a left at a down staircase, taking to the next one that goes up. We pass the Battlements and a sign that points to the Intelligence Room, Heavy pushing open double doors and letting me walk in first. 

"Oi, mate, you mind bloody telling us what this is?"

"Where did Doctor go?" Heavy asks.

"Dunno, Medic just left," Sniper stands in the boxing ring, a shadow cast over his front side as the sun shines inward from the window behind him. 

"Hmm, stay here. Both of you," Heavy exults and makes an exit. Dust floats about in the light, the remnants of the smell of perspiration in the air. I sashay up to the ring, glancing around at the racks of barbells, benchpresses, and pull up bars mounted to the wall. Sniper leans his arms on the bungee cord. 

"And how are you, Freddie?" He addresses me.

"Alright. You?" I thumb through the corner of my pages after setting down my mug and pull one out to hand to Sniper, surrendering my papers and standing on the other side of the cable.

"A bit confused, but doing just fine. I'll be back by midnight, this isn't too difficult." He reads and creases the paper to place in his side satchel. "Think I know what Heavy is doing."

"Do you?"

"Always calls me and Scout flimsy, so he probably thinks you're the same way since his sisters're deadset strong, Luv. And I mean it when I say _strong_. He doesn't get on Scout too much since the bastard goes running with Soldier, but I just sit in one place all day. Might just be some training that Heavy's made for you-n-me," he explains. "Hey, Freddie, you made a promise to me."

I peel my eyes away from his. "I technically did not."

"You plan on upholding that?"

"Why should I if I didn't?"

His eyes widen. "Wait, I bloody know what we're doing."

"Everyone is here, this is good," Heavy announces as he returns with Medic who has his Medi Gun mounted on his back. "Now we begin."

"I am very confused right now," I declare. 

"Hmm, let Heavy explain. Get in ring first." I reluctantly duck in. "Back home when we were in gulag, family settle problems with each other by talking--"

"Heavy, I 'preciate the help, but I'm not going to talk about my feelin's like this." Sniper crosses his arms.

"I am not done. Family settle problems with each other by talking while fighting. This is tradition that gets rid of all problems, **и я имею в виду все проблемы.**" He pulls up a folding chair and lays it out to sit. "I will oversee fight to make sure you are doing it right."

"Heavy, I'm not fighting in heels," I object.

"Then take shoes off."

"I'm not gonna punch a Sheila, mate," Sniper groans. "Listen, we can just do this the good ol' fashioned way and forget we even suggested this."

"This _is_ old fashioned way. You came to Heavy with problem, so Heavy will now _fix_ problem. Do not cry like baby, Heavy's help is very valuable in many countries." He claps. " **Начать!** Go! Start!"

"I am rooting for both of you!" Medic encourages hesitantly, unsure if this is the correct course of action. _"More Accomplice because the two of you are unfairly matched!"_

I turn to Sniper, my insides twisting with how uncomfortable I'm already growing. I reluctantly untie my boots and push them aside, slowly raising my fists before dropping them, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "I can't do this!"

"Aw, Freddie, trust me, we're not going to be allowed to leave until we do," Sniper warns, setting aside his sunglasses. 

"Heavy, I physically cannot do this," I repeat. 

"Does little lady have medical condition?" Heavy asks Medic. 

"Not to my knowledge, no," the doctor adjusts his glasses. "But you _are_ creating a somewhat hostile environment for sensiti--"

Heavy crosses his arms. "I do not see issue, why can you not fight Sniper?"

"I don't even know why I try with you sometimes," Medic sighs.

"For one, this is really embarrassing and awkward on so many levels," I huff, "and I don't have a reason to beat him up, like, he's not an enemy or anything. Hey, Heavy, maybe we should listen to Medic--"

_"Piss,"_ Sniper sighs, putting his hands on my shoulders. He bends over. "Go on then."

"'Go on then' and what?" I move around to get him to let go. He tightens his fingers. 

"Hit me," he urges. "Heavy's not one to fool around with, and we'd both be dropkicks if we even tried. Hit me."

"N-No, I'm not gonna hit you," I counter. 

"I'm not going to start fighting until you do. What would I 'ave to do then?"

"Nothing," I chirp, "because I'm not going to hit you. Let me go."

"Uh, hey, Freddie, remember when we were standing outside of your house and I stopped talking?"

"Why would you bring that _up?_ " I whine. I know what he's doing, and I hate him for this.

"Or, or, when you slapped me on the cruise."

"Is that what you were doing in the hallway?" Medic asks.

My stomach sinks, and I wish to be anywhere but here. "Sniper, stop _talking, please. Stop calling me Fre--_ "

"Think about how weird we looked together in the supermarket when we shook hands and tried to start over," I start to push him away. 

"I'm not going to hit you, I promise that I'm not going to hit you," I whisper, holding back a scream.

"Oi, Sheila, remember your first day here when I insisted you take the bathroom from me because I was already done with my bizzo?" He looks me in the eyes. "And how I was nothing more than a naked bloke standing in the hallway with a towel covering my nads? Remember that, Sheila?" I jab with my fist to get him off of me, heaving at the immense back-handed shame I'm getting sent my way. He holds onto his cheek and moves his jaw around. "Helluva throw there, Luv."

_"Let's just get this over with,"_ I sigh.

"Remember why you are fighting," Heavy reminds us. "Talk. Speak. Communicate."

"Crikey," Sniper shakes his head and stutters as he approaches me. "Uh, er, alright, Freddie. I know you're not over the fact I tried to kill you." I back up and push him over, keeping my distance. "And I know that you're not very willing to talk too much about it, Luv, but we obviously have to do that now."

I press my lips together as I keep walking him in circles to avoid confrontation, balling my fists. "You couldn't help yourself. I know that. It's an issue with my own brain and understand what happened, it has nothing to do with you."

He stands up. "An' I get that." Sniper catches my fist when I go for another punch, pulling my arm and placing me in a light chokehold. "I'm trying to start over with you."

"You can't-" I jab my thumbs under his skull and turn around to grab his collar, throwing him onto the ground. "You can't just start over with that. First impressions are everything. And I keep telling you to leave me alone. I'm doing that right now." He keeps thinking that I'm hiding my true feelings from when, in reality, I honestly don't care. He just doesn't know how to act like a normal human being for some reason.

He hooks his arm around my knees and causes them to cave. I roll over to try and get out of his reach, but he pins me face down and twists my arm behind my back. I groan as he pushes upward. "Maybe if we were normal folks. We're not normal folks. I'm really trying to be your friend 'ere, Freddie. We've got to have each other's backs, and I'm not sure if you trust me enough to have yours."

Sniper lets go of my arm and turns me over to look me in the eyes. "Do you trust me, Freddie?"

"Yes, I do," I plainly state.

"You're lying."

"Why would I be lying?"

"Because you're afraid."

Rage swells out of nowhere and I grab the collar of his vest, throwing him off of me and elbowing him in the neck when he reaches for me. "I'm not afraid of you, stop _fucking_ saying I'm afraid!"

Heavy laughs, pleased. "Yes, this is good." Medic and I make eye-contact, both of us knowing this will only end badly if we keep going. Heavy'll only let us see this through to the end, though. I stand over Sniper, looking down at him with mostly disappointment.

He knows I get worked up over this, but he just keeps digging. I keep telling him that it's my own personal thing to have. I give him a scowl. "Stop saying things that aren't true."

"You're not working with me here, Freddie," he says.

"I don't know how many times I told you to stop calling me 'Freddie.'"

"Enough times for me to know that you're acting like this on purpose." I burst, kicking in his crotch and dragging him by his legs back to the center of the ring. He tries to push me off of him, but I sock him square in the eye and knock off his hat in the process. He puts his hands up to block, but I pull his arms down and plant my knees on top of his arms. He tries to hoist me off, but I grab his hair and slam his head down on the mat, following up with a hook. And another. And another. Beating the shit out of him won't do anything, but it feels gratifying. Heavy calls out protests and climbs into the ring to pull me off of Sniper. I move my hair behind my ears once I regain my composure and stand in the furthest corner of the ring.

Medic stands on the ledge on the other side of the bands. "Are... Are you alright, _Komplizin?"_

My knuckles are raw, and I don't answer him. There's some sort of block. I can't get around it. Not over nor under. The only choice would be to get through it, meaning I'd have to unpack. What if it's something that I can't control like shell shock? I know he's trying his hardest, but he's just doing everything wrong. His breaths are shallow, a gentle groan coming from him as he rolls over. I exhale, my blood starting to boil. Sniper's eyes are trying to tell me something. Why is he looking at me like that? 

"You were not talking enough, this is why no big progress was made," Heavy assesses, displeased with the outcome. 

_"Dummkopf,"_ Medic lovingly and sweetly inquires to Heavy, "that wasn't the issue, but I am at the very least content with the fact the two of you showed- or at least tried to show- some sort of restraint. This means that I don't have to waste any necessary resources on this," he inputs as he jumps down. "I'm also not healing you, Sniper. Your conduct was unacceptable." He rolls his shoulders and makes his way to the door. "I shall be making a trip to go visit my wife and child, so I won't be at my clinic. I'll be back in a couple of hours, so my door is always open as you know. Except on weekends, make an appointment then."

"Whoa, what have we got here?" Scout asks as he holds the door open for Medic and enters the gym.

"Nothing," Sniper spits as he helps himself up. I leave the boxing ring and start to tie my shoes back on. This didn't help whatsoever. My lungs and heart are hollow, a pit widening within them. The sun outside got a bit duller while I wasn't looking. Sniper picks up his rifle and slides his sunglasses back on to hide the bruise forming over his eye. He didn't account for the red marks on his cheek. "I'm going to go deal with my contract. Doing an all-nighter if anyone asks, Scout."

"Yeah, sure," Scout stands next to me with his hands on his hips. "You wanna train together?"

"Scout, now is not time," Heavy shuts him down and stands up, stretching his arms.

"I'd just snap you like a twig, Scout, I'm not in a good mood right now."

"Damn, alright," he backs off with his hands up as I walk by him. I pick up my files and glance up at Heavy as I leave. The twist of uneasiness wrings my stomach. To say the very least, I am: Humiliated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	32. Thirty-Two: Oh, Right, It's October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Accomplice before she was promptly removed by Heavy having to carry her out)
> 
> The only thing scarier than what's happening is that Sniper has a crush on me.

"Long time no see, Fredrickson," Miss Pauling says. I jolt awake and sit up on the couch, groaning as I lay back down. 

"I don't want to be here." I turn over and face the inside of the couch. She sits in her usual spot on the armchair. 

"No one really cares about what you do and don't want at this point, Fredrickson. You're going to learn that quick at the fort, especially if his name is Sniper."

I lift myself onto an arm and turn my head to look at her, slitted eyes as I put my hair out of the way of my face. "The _fuck_ does that mean?" She puts her hands up and shrugs, looking past me into the kitchen. I turn around, met with the barrel of a gun. Sniper stands with it to my forehead, and I tap it. "Do it."

"We don't always get what we want, Fredrickson," Miss Pauling sighs. "Not even me."

He cocks it and shoots her dead before he hits me across the face instead, causing me to roll off the couch. He slowly walks around grunting, stepping on my arm and chest. I can't breathe, and I can feel my ribcage about to cave. Sniper stands on me, a hand over his neck as he shakily pulls the trigger. Flinching my head to the side, I inhale sharply and look up at him aiming further over to the side. I take my other hand and wrap around his knees, causing him to fall. Air quickly fill my lungs as I snatch the gun away and rise to my feet. Sniper reaches into his vest and pulls out a tin like Spy's, smoke fading from his body.

George lays on the floor, grinning like a menace. Sniper grabs me from behind and puts his hand over my mouth as he puts his kukri to my neck. I stop struggling and stare at George with wide eyes that have tears threatening to fall. Sniper's body is warm, a false sense of security. I place my hands over his as I feel his breath on my cheek. His arms are rough and hairy, muscles tensed as he holds me. There's a moment of calm as we all stay stationary, unsure of what'll happen.

Sniper slits my throat.

I slowly open my eyes, out of breath, as Heavy sits at my desk. I lift my head and wipe my eyes, feeling my heartbeat in my temples. The Russian rumbles as he rubs his chin. "I am sorry. Perhaps family tradition was not correct for you and Sniper."

I pant to regain some air. It's been a while since I had a nightmare about Vanguard. Sniper hasn't been in any of my dreams after that night. Hell, it's been a while since I've had a purgatory dream with Miss Pauling. I kinda had a theory that I only get those if I'm about to die. What's going to happen later today, then? "I'm sorry that I woke you."

"We are all learning," he gently says. "Maybe you should go talk to him in tower. Alone."

The clock almost reads three in the morning. Problems like this can't keep being "dealt" with later. Heavy goes back to his room as I slip on sneakers to traverse across the courtyard. Walking around in a tank top and shorts isn't much of an issue in this heat. Coyotes howl from beyond the fort walls, and the wind whistles as it passes through the scaffolding of Sniper's tower. The metal steps tap each time my foot lands, the queasiness in my bloodstream increasing with each time I circle onto a new landing. Something pulls me to go back down and make a visit to Engie instead, given that Engie doesn't set me off and cause me to get physical with him. Not yet, anyway. I hope he doesn't.

Sniper opens the door for me when I knock. "Freddie."

"Sniper," I say back, staying on my feet when offered to sit down and crossing my arms to hold myself. 

"Need something, Luv?" He asks as he checks his watch. "Well, I'd assume you need something if we're awake at this time of night." 

"I'm sorry for hitting you."

"It's all good, Luv. Maybe I deserved a good puntin'."

"How'd your contract go?"

"Nothin' too special."

I don't think there are many benefits when it comes down to leaving out details on the situation. "I still get nightmares from when all of that happened a month ago. Some things are seared into my brain and just thinking about it puts me on edge."

"'Fore we start, I have to ask-" he moves his sunglasses from on top of his hat to hanging from his shirt, "are you afraid of me or what I did?"

"I'm not afraid of you," I quietly answer. "If you scared me, I wouldn't have come here. I think it's safe to assume that when you threaten to stab me- or any normal person on this planet- with a knife, that's terrifying."

"It's never that simple, excuse me," he shakes his head and steers me out of the way so he can get something. I glace around, nothing much changing from what I remember. The blankets on his couch are unfolded, and the divot in the cushion remains. He sighs, turning to me and having me stand with my back against the oak wood wall. "Full disclosure, there's no threat here, Luv. I'm not out to get you. This is just a test."

"Okay..." I reluctantly accept. 

He slowly puts his arm up, pressing his forearm lightly to my chest and holding onto my wrist to check my pulse. "So you're fine like this..." He makes notes to himself as he grabs me by my arms and throws me up against the wall, pinning me to see if it would get a reaction out of me. I don't think anything significant changed because I'm breathing just the same. He removes his hand from my wrist and reaches behind him, slowly unsheathing his kukri. I swallow hard when I see a small reflection of light off of the metal, and he picks up on it. "Bingo." The tip slowly makes its way toward my neck, and I turn my head away. I start to lift my hands, keeping his at a distance when he's gotten too close. He pushes against my grip, and I quiver. "We're all fine and well until the bloke starts to carry a knife."

"Th-that would make sense," I stifle, my arms shaking as I still hold him away. 

"This'll never be us, Luv," his breath lays gently over my ear as he whispers to me. "Not like this. You don't 'ave to worry about me coming after you should we ever get into a fight with another bloody piker."

"And I believe you," I shakily express. "I can't just- _turn off my bodily reaction like that, though."_

"Anno," he says. "But we're getting somewhere, one way or another." He keeps his hand still, and my heart slows down as I take deep breaths. I slowly release my fingers from his hand and drop them to my side, eventually glancing at him in the eyes. He didn't turn the lights on, and my eyes try to piece together the rest of his face as moonlight gives me hints. He sheathes his kukri but doesn't let go of me.

"Sniper?" I call in a hushed voice, wondering what's going on. His now free hand holds onto my chin, his lips brushing up against my cheek. He places his forehead on mine, tilting my head upward to balance out the height difference. Sniper kisses me. He's bold about it with his strong plant to my lips. He doesn't stay for long, pulling away after a few seconds and stepping back to give me my space. I stare at him from my corner of the room, devoid of any comment on the situation. He rubs the back of his neck and sits down at the window, picking up his rifle.

"'Umor me, Freddie," he requests. "Feel like a wuss enough as it is."

I shrug and lean my back against the wall, staring at the tenebrosity behind the couch while drawing a blank on anything to surrender as personal opinion. I don't think I'm asleep right now, but I pinch my side as I cross my arms to verify. That was fucking awful, to say the very least. He hasn't shown the slightest sign of being interested in me, so a kiss from out of the blue while we're still trying to work out the fact that I can't handle seeing him holding a knife is... Perplexingly eligible to be described as both comical but also a tad bit cute to be played in the tone of _'why the fuck would you do such a thing?'_ "That didn't feel right."

"Have you ever looked through the scope of a rifle, Luv?" He inquires while ignoring my previous statement. 

"No, I don't have much experience with firearms," I remind. 

"Your world becomes a whole lot smaller," he says, lifting his head to stare out of the window with both of his eyes. "The last time you were here, my usual world of cracked desert, checking in on the wankers, and the occasional bus became you. Did nothing but keep an eye on you because I was so sure you were here to carry out bad bizzo. Did it out of spite since all I remember is hatin' you. A sniper. To stay focused on our targets, we imagine doin' something with 'em that would defo take a long time. Farming and ranch upkeep is always my go-to. Imagine how much of a dag I feel when I'm sittin' 'ere and thinking up about how you and I are shearing sheep at me parents' farm when you're no longer someone I wanna kill."

"Your parents tend to sheep?" I try to digress. He even admitted to hating me, he's not making this any better for either of us.

"Amongst other things, but you're missing my point, Sheila," he chuckles. "I like you. Just a touch. Might not be what you wanted to hear, but it's what we've got. At the least, I'd prefer we be mates, Freddie. It's late, and you should head down."

I nod, coming out of the corner and patting him on the shoulder. He turns me to face him at the door. His eyes hesitate on whether or not he should kiss me again, and I don't think I'm at full mental capacity to explore such avenues. I depart and start the trek down the stairs, leaving with twice the amount of confusion as I had going in. This is weird. I don't like him like that. I can't go back to bed with this still on my mind. I could go talk to Engie about it, but that'd be weird. Showing up at someone's doorstep in the middle of night and saying "hey, really out of tune romantic advances were made on me." I don't want to tell him about that. I don't want to tell anyone about that. It's slightly embarrassing and feels like I'm in high school again and spreading gossip. Only this time, it's about me.

I'm hungry anyway, and I need something to do. I don't think there'd be too much harm in getting a quick bite to eat. It's still dark out, but there isn't much of a threat. I start to walk for the fort, seeing a small light emanating from the kitchen. I walk in, the light above the stove being the only thing on. That and the stove itself. Soldier sits on the floor with Pyro in front of the oven, staring through the little window to watch something bake. I step behind them, Soldier looking up at me with a muscle shirt and black boxers on, still wearing his helmet as usual. "Accomplice, come watch the brownies with us."

"You watch them?" I ask, getting on the floor with them.

"Passes the time," he whispers. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask the same thing."

"I was hungry," he says.

"I am, too." I move closer and hug my legs. I feel my shorts stretch. Maybe late-night snacking isn't a good idea. "Is this a thing you do often?"

"Yes. Usually, Scout is here with me, but Pyro joined me this time. We feast in the name of America tonight, Oorah," he trails, getting onto his knees and turning the dials on the oven until it turns off. "And, they're done." We sit for a bit longer in silence to wait for the oven to cool down. It's really bugging me. I don't want Sniper to like me, not like that. It makes things so much more difficult. I just whooped him earlier, and now he's kissing me in the dead of the night like there was some kind of mounting tension between us. The only tension I feel around him is negative. It's no longer _just_ awkward.

Pyro stands up and opens the oven, taking out the tray of brownies with his gloves on and setting it on top of the stove, Soldier getting a knife and cutting them into squares. I stand up, too, getting a napkin. "Gimme an edge piece."

"Edge piece," Soldier echoes, digging it out of the pan. "Edge piece. There you go, sister."

"Thank you," I take it and start to pick it apart into pieces on the counter to let it cool down quicker. Pyro takes his pieces and retreats to his room, leaving me and Soldier in the kitchen. We both stand at the counter, picking at our pastries. This feels bad. I feel like I shouldn't be eating. Something feels empty inside of me, and I want to fill it.

I shouldn't put too much mind into it because that stresses me out, but I can't help but think about it when I'm putting anything in my mouth. Soldier doesn't seem to mind eating whatever he wants since he's already on his third brownie when I'm trying to slowly eat my first, but it's different since he works out regularly and clearly keeps up with himself as I saw when he was had on swimwear. Pyro took six with him, so he doesn't care too much either. That leaves three for me and one more for Soldier if we split them evenly.

"You aren't eating your brownie," Soldier notices. "Is it bad?"

"No, no, it's good. I like it. I'm just thinking about things," I take a bigger chunk and bite into it. It's crunchy, and the top layer of fudge is wonderfully in between chewy and crispy. I shouldn't be eating this. I take another out of the tray. Soldier isn't much for words, and we silently eat out of the tray for the next twenty minutes or so, finishing up and washing the dishes in the sink. I throw my napkin away in the trash, and Soldier I both walk back to our homes quietly in the veil of the night. We didn't talk at all, but we had a moment. Two people snacking in the early morning for one reason or another. 

I couldn't sleep. All I could think about was Sniper kissing me. The sentiment is nice, but he shouldn't like me. I enjoy the attention even though there are so many reasons why he shouldn't want to go out with me. I can't sleep. I toss and turn for two hours straight, trying to get comfortable, but my thoughts get bounced around at hyper speeds inside my head.

Daylight breaks and I enter the kitchen to see Medic as the usual resident- taking up the stove this morning- with Scout and Soldier remaining stationary. Scout sits with his feet on the table, throwing up a baseball and catching it repeatedly. "Yo."

"Good morning," I say.

_"Buenos dias_ again, maggot," Soldier rings.

"Again?" Medic questions. 

"We ate brownies together a couple of hours ago." Soldier turns to Medic and points at him. "it's a free country, we do what we want as citizens. Not that you'd know anything about that."

_"Guten Morgen,"_ Medic smiles as brightly as he can after ignoring Soldier, turning around to reveal an apron covering his nice dress clothing. "Can I interest you in some _Eierkuchen?"_

"Some what?"

_"Pfannkuchen."_

"Medic, I don't even know French all that well, I don't know what you're trying to offer me."

"Pancakes," Scout says, readjusting his feet. I glance at him. "I only listen to Medic when it comes to food."

I chuckle. I'm not hungry, and Medic's also not making coffee. I still shouldn't ignore breakfast. Ugh, why do I have to overthink things? "Uh, sure. A couple isn't going to hurt." I want to change that statement. "Just one is fine."

Engie runs outside with a toolbox in hand, too preoccupied to acknowledge Medic when he tries to ask him if he wants breakfast. A light bulb goes off in my head. "I have to make a call, I'll be right back."

I enter the armory, not wanting to go all the way back to my room since I forgot to take my phone with me like I did yesterday like a klutz. This phone works a bit differently, but not too different. Instead of a number pad, there's a large metal rod that slides into a hole with a person's name by it. Supposedly, Team Fortress has access to the president of all people. If I come up with a good enough thing to say to Richard Nixon, I'll be sure to say it. I slide the pin over to Miss Pauling and pick up the phone, waiting for her to pick up.

"Pauling," she says.

"Hey, Miss Pauling," I greet.

"Oh, Fredrickson," she sounds busy. "Need something?"

"A couple. For starters, some of the guys are wondering if I would be able to go on contracts with them. Namely Engie, but I guess for future reference."

A gunshot goes off in the background. "As long as I can still reach you by phone, you'd be able to go with them. Obviously, there are a few where you don't have a choice, but you'll be able to earn bonuses if you team up with them. Subject to taxes, of course, but a bonus is a bonus. Assuming you actually kill someone while you're there. What's the other thing?"

Would it be a good idea to tell her about what happened with Sniper? Doing so would be premature. "Uh, what do I do with the other guys that don't have contracts?"

"They can take care of themselves, Fredrickson. Wait, hold on," she grunts and a shotgun blast becomes prominent. "But the team can handle not having work all of the time. Come up with house rules if you're so worried about them. Give me a second. _I have a shotgun bub, and I'm not afraid to use it!"_

 _"Screw you, bitch!"_ Another voice yells over the line. 

"Anything else Fredrickson?"

"No, no, that pretty much covers it."

"Okay, gotta go. Do me a favor and hang up, please. _You think you're tough? I'll have you know that I'm **thee** Miss Pauling, bucko."_ I hang up before my ear gets blown off with more gunshots. I have a feeling she's still mad at me but just won't show it unless it's to make a point. I've seen her do it before, where she withholds her true feelings on an issue until it's appropriate to input her two cents. Well, appropriate where she sees fit.

"Mornin', Accomplice," Engie puffs, running past me and unmounting a shotgun from the wall, pumping the forestock and running back outside. I stand in the doorway, watching what's happening from afar. "So I figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Scout asks, sitting up when Medic places a plate in front of him. I sit down at the table with him and Soldier, turning my chair to face Engie. He sets his shotgun down on the table and takes a PDA from his side satchel after kicking open his toolbox, the teleporter whirring as it slowly builds.

"Why the teleporter creates bread monsters."

"I'm sorry, hold on," I interrupt and accept my plate from Medic. "The teleporter made those things?"

"Yes'm," Engie confirms.

"And you still use the teleporters?"

"Yup," he confirms with the same tone. 

"So you still continue to use the teleporters..."

"Uh-huh."

"...when you know that it does that."

"Pretty much."

"Okay, but it makes bread monsters."

He shrugs. "All you're doing is rephrasing, Accomplice."

"It only affects the wheat," Medic says. "Trust us, we made a spectacle out of it when we learned that it happens." He picks up Engie's shotgun and holds it by the pump in one hand so it isn't on the table. "Even then, they're technically not bread monsters. It's a parasitic entity that can only ferment within an area of yeast, making a loaf of _brot_ an ideal breeding ground."

"Regardless, I figured it out," Engie gets us back on track as his teleporter spins furiously with a red glow. "Soldier, you mind takin' that loaf of bread from the counter and throwin' it into the entrance teleporter in my garage?"

"Sir, yes sir!" He agrees, shoving the pancake into his mouth and leaving to do what was asked of him.

"Alright, science mumbo jumbo," Scout talks with his mouth full. Heavy quietly enters and takes a seat at the other table, Demo joining as well with Spy. "Give it to us Hardhat."

"I realized the displacement fluctuation was a _tad_ off balance while fiddling with the central pivot to get a faster teleport time," he takes his shotgun from Medic and flips off the safety. "Didn't some of you fellas say that you also saw a couple of things while gettin' from one place to another? Figured that would also be the reason why you feel a bit queasy inside when moving along the fourth dimension. At the very least, be thankful that a tiny little miscalibration doesn't do anything to ya physically as it does mentally."

I don't even bother to try and decipher what he meant by the fourth dimension. Medic hands me a fork and leans on the edge of the table with his arms crossed as something comes up with a flash of light. The bread loaf floats and spins slowly, Engie smiling at the results. "I'll be! That seemed to do the trick."

Medic stands up and picks it up, breaking it in half with a sickening _snap!_ Green pimples still reside within the inside. I think it's pulsating. Medic hums with content. "At least it's not sentient."

"Progress if anything at that," Engie sighs. "Back to the drawing board, boys."

"Morning, pikers," Sniper says as he walks into the kitchen from the plaza. 

"I teleported bread!" Soldier giddily laughs as he returns from Engie's workshop.

"You what, mate?" Sniper cautiously ventures.

Engie puts a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I let him. Was checkin' to see if I discovered _why_ my machine does what it does."

I start eating when Sniper makes eye contact with me, turning back around to the table to not look at him. The last thing we need to be doing right now is creating a discomforting work environment. 

"Now that we have completed the moronic task of today, I have this for you," Spy announces, handing me a briefcase.

I swallow my food and take it from him. "That was... Fast. What's in this?"

"Intelligence," the entire room answers. Looking at the case, it's glaringly obvious now. I've seen it before, too, what the hell? Don't I feel stupid?

"Here, I'll take ya to the Intelligence room and give you the code and such," Engie offers as he sets his shotgun down and starts to pick up his building. A chill runs down my spine, and the air feels electric. Sniper rubs his arms and the room shifts as Engie stops what he's doing. "Y'all felt that, too, right?"

Scout shivers. "It _is_ October and everythin'." Pyro comes inside with his flamethrower out, beckoning us to follow him. The team takes their time, consulting the armory before heading out. I follow after, tailing behind Soldier who lit himself a cigar before coming out. The sky is a murky grey, the wind beginning to pick up and throw dirt around. It never rains in the Badlands, this is an incredible change in the weather. I unclip my holster and pull out my handgun to be at the ready with everyone else. Pyro stops us at the campsite where he lit a fire in the pit. I go to step toward the front of the group, but Sniper puts a hand on my shoulder to hold me back. Pyro points his flamethrower to the sky, and my eyes follow.

What is that thing? It's like some sort of crack in the air, green mist pouring out of the seam. _"Huh her deh headeh?"_

"I mean, we _could_ just ignore him this year," Scout shrugs.

"Scout should know that that is never option," Heavy rolls his eyes and starts to rev his minigun.

Spy spins his revolver. "May it be through sheer need or comedic neglect, there is no escaping the wizard."

I squint. Wizard? I repressed a lot of things, but that sounds familiar.

"Light 'er up, Pyro," Demo says, lifting his grenade launcher. 

Pyro pulls out a flare gun and shoots one into the crack, a cough echoing out of the rift. That can't be--

_**"Who dares try to gas the Great Merasmus?"**_

"Me, you sonuva bitch," Soldier growls as he fires off a rocket without warning. I take a few steps back after the blast, needing to shield my eyes as the air becomes polluted with dust. I slit my eyes, Engie, Pyro, and Soldier the only ones standing strong. The wind ceases in an instant. I slowly look up, the sky now a malicious green with a man floating in the air. Oh, fuck, this piece of shit.

"Merasmus!" Soldier yells, pointing at him. "You can _not_ stay with us! We're not renting, leave!"

" ** _Merasmus_** isn't looking for a roommate, you imbecile," he bellows back, "I have come to curse you all! Who would want to stay here? You didn't even decorate for Halloween."

_Puh, mmph heph hmmph meheh,"_ Pyro sasses.

"Bah, your awful taste in interior design and unwillingness to put up decor is not going to deter **_Merasmus_** from visiting you on Halloween." Everyone glances at each other, very unphased by the threat made against us. Merasmus whispers under his breath as he gets a headcount on us, pointing the end of his staff at me. "You, you're new. You're not the other purple one. Who are you?"

"Uh," I purse my lips. "Does it matter?"

"I will more than likely not remember your name," he admits. "I would suppose it doesn't. Wouldn't hurt to know, though."

"Miss Fredrickson."

"Too many syllables."

"Ah, hell, listen ya yella-bellied gutless coward," Engie grumbles rapidly, lifting his shotgun. "I'll have you know--"

"Silence, mortal!" Merasmus chucks his staff at Engie, landing with a _ding!_ and knocking him out cold despite his head protection. I'm either crazy or the words "mini-crit" manifested out of thin air. He flexes his hand and the staff reappears in his grip. I get on the ground and lift Engie's head up, patting him on the cheek a few times. "Before I was so rudely interrupted... Ah yes. Hold on, I had a whole speech planned--"

I reach for Engie's gun, slowly lifting it and aiming at the wizard in the sky. He looks and shakes his stick at me, enough of a threat to make me lower the firearm. "That's what I thought." He clears his throat. _**"Mortals! It is I, Merasmus. It is that time of year again where my powers are at their strongest. All of you, Team Fortress, will be the subject of my wrath for the next thirty-one d--"**_

"Twenty-nine," Spy corrects. "You missed yesterday, and you cannot count the day you are currently one. We are subject to your wrath for twenty-nine days."

"Are you now?" He takes out reading glasses from his pouch and unrolls a scroll. This is heavily anticlimactic from what I was expecting out of a wizard. I turn to the rest of the team, all looking rather bored already. How many years has this been an event? Engie stirs in my lap, and I tap his cheek while whispering his name a couple of times. 

Medic gets on the ground and smirks. "Perhaps we should take off his goggles to check his pupils and make sure they're responsive."

I move my hands up to the sides of his goggles, lifting them gently off his skin until his hands jet to mine and pulls them back down. "I like ya, dear, but there's a thing called 'boundaries.'"

"Medic said to--"

"No no, Spy, that's where you're wrong," Merasmus starts back up again. "I get my two days. It's here in the subscription terms."

"If that is what the paper says, then please, continue."

Heavy heaves, beginning to shoot at Merasmus. "Heavy is tired of wizard talking!"

The entire team, save Medic and Engie, takes this as an excuse to start attacking, rapid assault coming from all directions. 

"Ah, hey!" The wizard disappears and reappears behind us, waving his staff and grumbling as his assailants' weapons disintegrate in pumpkin innards. "You are all starting to get on **_Merasmus's_** nerves."

" _Sasha!_ " Heavy cries. 

"Then leave you batshit crazy piker!" Sniper yells at him with his hands out, not knowing what to do with the goop. "We already don't want you here."

"Bats..." Merasmus hesitates, watching Medic's flock of doves fly overhead. "New idea for your first curse. Bird heads. Again this year. That's it. I'm going home, this is already not a great start. _**Aviansium Cabezactum!"**_

There is just pain everywhere, everyone hunching over as they cry out from whatever spell was just cast on them. I pick up my still intact handgun, keeping a hand on Engie as he writhes around on the cracked sand. There's no telling if what he did is going to come after me in particular like it did last time. He looks at me. " ** _Merasmus_** has spared you because you haven't done anything to me. _Yet."_ He floats back into the crack in the sky that closes up. The sun starts to blaze again and I quickly begin to heat up, the only difference being that the sky is pitch black with foreboding clouds looming over the fort, a spooky theme now encompassing our surroundings. He opens up slightly one last time, and he echoes from within. _**"Merasmus also cursed your teleporters."**_

"Darn," Engie chirps. Wait, Engie doesn't chirp. Come to think of it, I'm no longer holding onto Engie's scruffy cheek but now a mass of feathers. I look down at him, met with a canary. "Howdy, how're you?"

"Aw," I giggle, filled with sheer terror over what the hell just happened. Bird heads? So is this just Engie with a head that looks like a bird or is it some weird kind of morph that smites God in its creation? I hear crowing, and I turn to the rest of the team to check in on them. Spy feels his head, trilling as he snaps his beak a few times, now resembling a corvid.

Adorable. Why is that the word that keeps popping into my head? This should be a nightmare and passively traumatizing at the very least, but birds are one of my favorite animals and I simply cannot object to this. Engie chirps a couple more times, and I bury my fingers into his feathers, amused with this turn of events. Medic coos and rests the underside of his beak on top of my head.

"Accomplice, you're taking this surprisingly well," Scout notes, trying to set his hat on top of his head and opting to just hold it instead. I smile at him.

"Are you a cardinal?" I swoon.

"Uh, yeah... Does that mean you'll finally give me a little bit of lovin'?" He moves closer to me, squatting down and encouraging me to reach out and pet him. As much as I want to, I have to deal with the issue on hand. I lift Engie's head and push him to sit up as well as shaking Medic off, standing up and dusting myself off. 

"Okay, Merasmus is on the loose. So we should--" I'm interrupted by Pyro honking as a flamingo. He snaps his beak and shakes his head, remaining quiet. "So we--" Heavy the robin winds up a screech before stopping himself. "We should get on that as soon as possible." 

_"So we should get on that as soon as possible!"_ Demo squawks, a parrot. "Sorry, lass, didnae mean tae dae that."

"That's alright. What's--" Soldier the bald eagle next to me screams in my ear, followed by Medic- who resembles Archimedes Two- nipping at my shoulder. "What's the first thing we need to do?"

"We should probably do something about the teleporters," Engie suggests, getting to his feet and adjusting his goggles. "Dunno what he meant by 'curse', but it'd be a good idea to go round 'em up and shut 'em off."

Sniper sneezes while he's facing away from me, a tiny honk coming from him as he ruffles his feathers. He holds onto his hat and glasses, his head making a full one-eighty to look at me. I flinch. "I think that a break is probably good to start off with."


	33. Thirty-Three: Good Mercenaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Heavy)
> 
> These bird heads... I like them. It gives me more reason to eat and for Doctor to pet Heavy. This is nice. What is not nice is wizard thinking he can beat us. Separating group was not good idea, and Heavy will make sure wizard knows this. I will personally crush skull to let him know I do not like his games.

"Bird heads?" Miss Pauling asks again, for the fourth time.

"Yes, bird heads. Parrots and owls and cardinals and stuff. _Birds,_ " I elaborate. "I don't know how long this'll take to fix."

"Keep me updated on that. I'm currently digging my seventeenth shallow grave out of forty right now, so we might be here a while. Pauling out." She hangs up, and I step around Medic who's been following me around the common room as I paced in a circle for the past fifteen minutes.

"Something you need from me, Medic?" I finally ask while shoving my phone back into my backpack.

"Yes, but there are some things I should inform you of for our current predicament. Learning from previous interactions, I'm effectively useless in this field. Perhaps from what you've heard of me, you've deduced that I've tried next to everything to reverse our status, but that is not possible. It doesn't do much to us, and it's by no means bad if we're going to discuss mortality issues."

"That's all fine and dandy, but how do we undo it?"

"Is our appearance unsavory?"

I hear screaming and screeching in a distance and point my thumb behind me. _"That_ is unsavory."

"Found one!" Scout yells from the armory. Medic leads me over as he continues to brief me.

"Our task will be slightly more difficult since Engineer has placed a temporary ban on the teleporters. The control points in the warehouse portion of the fort are all occupied at the current moment. We must capture our points again from our undead adversaries and try to push to the heart of the building to defeat the ceremonial antagonist clone."

"There are zombies?" I lift my eyebrows.

" _Ja_. They're really called ' _Voodoo-Cursed Souls'_ or something of the like, but we call them zombies to anger Merasmus," Medic yawns as we approach Scout. "Found one of what?"

Scout tosses a small statuette up and catches it, shaking it in his hand. "Soul Gargoyle. Finder's keepers."

"As the saying goes," he coos and adjusts his glasses. "Ah, yes, I should note that our avian tendencies are completely involuntary that range from less than ideal diets to unnecessary preening and all the way to screaming as a group for no reason in particular as you heard earlier. If I begin to laugh at you for no reason, I apologize in advance."

"Alright..." I accept. "But didn't you need something, hun?'

" _Ja_ ," he chuckles as he bows his head. "I require you to pet me."

Scout bends over to tap his beak to my cheek. "Aw, yeah! Me, too!"

I don't even think for a second, giving them both attention. With one hand, Scout nuzzles his beak into my palm while softly trilling and smoothing out the feathers on Medic's head with the others. This feels so odd but satisfying at the same time. He straightens up and ruffles his feathers.

"I apologize for getting you side-tracked... We should perhaps go pay Engineer a visit, hmm? I'll meet you there, I must go restock in my clinic."

"Ah man, this is the good stuff," Scout warbles as he melts in my hands with Medic's absence. I snicker, and he quickly stands up, taking a scattergun from his locker. He looks at the pistol on my belt and takes out a shotgun as well. "Right uh, gonna go knock some heads together. You should take this."

"Why does everyone assume I suddenly know how to properly shoot a shotgun?"

"I mean... I just thought it made sense what with... Y'know...?" He shrugs.

I take the gun, widen the sling strap, and take off my backpack. "I suppose? I didn't even hold it correctly, this thing would easily blow my shoulder off."

"Practice makes perfect?" Scout reluctantly tries to motivate me. I tilt my head in unsureness and sling the strap of the gun over my body to keep my hands free before putting my backpack back on. "Be careful out there, Accomplice."

"You, too." I sigh as I head into Engie's garage. He holds a toolbox to his chest as he talks to Spy.

"Please, only sap it _if needed,_ " he pleads. "Sappers destroy the whole darn thing instead of just deactivating 'em."

"I will attempt to. I make no promises," Spy says. having to hold his cigarette in between his fingers when talking. Is he even supposed to be smoking? Bird head and everything...

"Go on, git," Engie orders. Spy squeezes past me as I enter, Engie setting down his toolbox on a table and turning to me. "ETA of getting all of this fixed up? Can't give ya an estimate," Engie sighs and crosses his arms. "To make sure we're all caught up, here's what we need to do to break the curse--"

"Medic already told me," I stop him. 

"Saves me a bit of trouble," he mumbles. "Right now, we're rounding up exit teleporters around the fort. Better to do it now rather than wait for something to pop up out of it. Accomplice, why do you have a shotgun?"

"I honestly don't know, Scout gave it to me."

"You doin' alright? I mean, with everything going on and such."

I nod. "I just get to look at cute birds all day. Including you. I used to have canaries around my neighborhood."

He screeches before chuckling. "Aw, look at ya goin' round and callin' me cute now."

"Takes one to know one," I giggle, saying it as more of a joke.

"And that's absolutely a fact," he seconds, tapping his bent index finger on my chin. It might be the friendly nature of a canary talking, but his compliment makes my face warm regardless. 

"Yoo-hoo, _hallo?_ " Medic calls, laughing as his birds do before clearing his throat. He holds a container in his hands, handing it off to me. "Heavy and Scout went to go survey the first point and report on what needs to be done. I also saw Spy sapping the teleporter in my clinic after it spawned in a bread monster."

_"Dag **nabbit,**_ **"** Engie groans obnoxiously loud. "Guess it's for the best, Telemax needs new blueprints anyway and I've been flaking on 'em. I suppose we found out what Merasmus's curse was."

"I took the liberty of shutting off any teleporters I came across on my way here. If you're silent, they don't activate."

"Oh, good work, Medic," I say, trying to give input in this interaction. "It's a small detail, but it'll be useful later." Medic stands with his fingers intertwined, tapping his thumbs as he looks at me expectantly. He flutters his fingers to reference my hands. "What... What's in this thing, Medic?" I hesitantly ask.

"Open it," he urges, he and Engie stepping closer to me. I pop the lid, placing it under the jar. It's birdseed. "Now grab a bit of it." I furrow my brows. _"Mach weiter, schnapp dir was."_ I do as he says, holding it in my palm with close fingers. Engie chirps, ducking his head and nudging up against my hand. Opening my fingers, he dives in and pecks at the feed, gently nipping at my fingers when there's no more. Medic is next, biting a bit harder when I'm out. He cocks his head to the side. "Erm, sorry. Aviary tendencies. I should make note that birdseed is only for good mercenaries."

A giggle escapes me as I replace the lid. "So you two are self-proclaimed good boys?" 

"The best," Engie jokes as he pulls his glove. "Mercenaries, that is." He warbles and gently headbutts me which makes me put my hand out to pet him.

"If you wish to go check on the rest of our team, they're up on the eastward battlements," Medic informs. "I'll be checking on Heavy and Scout's progress. Remember, birdseed is only for good mercenaries."

"Birdseed is only for good boys, got it!" I confirm as I leave, grinning as Medic calls after me to correct my wording. I run to the up staircase, listening once I'm at the top for any voices that would point me in the right direction. Pyro honks which is followed by jeers, and I run opposite to that of the gym to find the rest of the team standing near a window. Sniper turns his head around to look at me, and I shudder. "That's going to take some getting used to. What are you four looking at?"

"Zombies," Soldier reports, pulling me over to the window. I squeeze in between him and Pyro, squinting at the warehouse. A bridge leads over a moat, past shipping containers which then leads into the building. Everything is quiet on the homefront.

"I have no clue what you guys are looking at," I finally admit.

_"I have nae clue what ye guys are lookin' at!"_ Demo repeats.

"Gah, right," Sniper hoots. "You don't have a bird head. Here." I set down the bin and take his rifle, using the scope. "Third window to the right."

Shadows mill about inside, but it's too dark in the warehouse to see. "Holy crow."

_"Oui?"_ Spy asks as he runs past.

"Ah, no, you're good," I dismiss him and give Sniper his gun back. Pyro honks again, everyone flinching while he clicks his tongue. "Why did you just do that?"

"Pyro either hits or bites ye when he daes that," Demo notes, turning his head to look at me with his eye. I look at Pyro, opening his oblong beak and shaking his tongue. His goggles obstruct his eyes. He honks, the team flinches, and Pyro starts calling as though he's laughing. 

"Pyro, sweetheart, stop biting people," I say. He smacks the side of his beak against Soldier, Soldier threatening to bite him back. I separate them. "Pyro, no hitting either."

"Flamingos are bloody assholes, don't blame 'im too much," Sniper says as he lowers his rifles. He looks at the floor. "Is that birdseed?"

I rush to pick up the container, holding it tightly against my chest. "Birdseed is only for good boys."

"Am I nae a good lad, Hen?" Demo squawks.

"I don't know, are you?" I playfully tease. This is stupid beyond any reasonable measure, but I'm enjoying this. It's the first time I'm receiving little to no adversity or conflict with any of the team about anything I saw.

"I am," he declares.

"I am also a good boy and a national patriotic symbol of freedom and courage, now deliver my birdseed," Soldier commands. I sigh, digging my hand in and pulling out a handful for each of them. Pyro refuses birdseed, honking and then whacking my hand away with his beak. Soldier cries out, Demo following up by screeching and Sniper his hooting. Spy crows as he passes by- declining a handful of birdseed that surprised no one- Pyro honking and getting caught by Demo who wraps his hand around his beak. Pyro shakes his head, sneezing when Demo lets him go. 

"Bless you," I tell Pyro.

_"Bless you!"_ Demo yells. He nuzzles his beak on my forehead, and I pet him on the top of his head to prevent him from pushing me over. He clicks his beak, nodding his head furiously as I flatten his feathers. Even though Halloween has its track record of being scary and insighting fear, I'm filled with whimsy and- understandably- worldly detachment. I'm certain I'm having a very lucid dream at the moment, but I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. I feel my bond with Demo has already grown stronger and all I did was pet him for a couple of minutes. Something about hardened mercenaries all of a sudden asking to be hand fed and for pats on their heads as positive reinforcement has me feeling welcomed.

"They're bloody back." Demo leaves upon seeing our teammates outside the window, Soldier and Pyro following after him to meet up and discuss our plan. I go to follow, Sniper pulling me back.

"Listen, Luv," Sniper starts, "I hope I didn't weird you out."

"Er," I take no time in pondering about it. "You did. There's just a lot going on right now, Don't worry about it." I turn to go, but he stops me again.

"Are you sure? Think you-n-I both know that you have a tendency not to tell anyone when something is buggin' you."

"No, really, I'm fine, Sniper. It caught me off guard a teensy bit, but we're not on bad terms or anything," I assure him. He looks down at me with his golden eyes. "You look mad about it."

"Do I?"

"Yes," I state, quickly sorting my logic. "It's because you're a Great Horned Owl. Nevermind, you just naturally look upset. Let's go join the rest of the team." I walk off, Sniper following close behind as we descend the stairs and integrate into the group in Medic's clinic. Scout and Medic have returned to normal, but Heavy still remains a robin.

"Things have changed this year. For better or for worse is to be decided after the battle. Capturing a control point breaks your curse, but you can no longer cheat and have two people standing on it at once. Heavy got rather unlucky in that sense." Medic takes the container from me and scoops some birdseed into his hand for Heavy. "The rest of the warehouse was sealed off by a barrier. My guess? It's time-activated. We would have to return there later tonight and see how that goes. Oddly enough, there weren't any zombies either. Something very peculiar is going on."

"That _is_ weird," I note. "We just saw movements in one of the windows on the battlements. We _are_ dealing with magic here, so we can't keep trying to make sense of what's happening. We'll have to wait until later tonight, right?"

"Maybe," Heavy says while looking up from pecking at Medic's hand. "There is no telling, but that would be good guess. Team should check in hour or two."

"Gives us time to prepare. Y'all still remember your spells?" Engie asks. 

"I don't think I can ever forget 'em," Scout says, deadpan. 

I hum. "Oh, grand, _spells._ Fix the magic with _more magic._ This will be a disaster."

Medic looks on apologetically. "You don't need to use magic if you don't want to."

"Even if we prefer you do," Engie counters. 

_"Even if we prefer you dae!"_ Demo repeats. 

"Healing Scout was not a fun experience, I'm not doing that again," I reinforce.

"What happened when yeez healed Scout?" Demo questions.

"Blood shot out of my nose." Disgust fills the room.

Medic puts a fist to his chest and alternates his weight between his toes and his heels. "None of these men have souls so they do not have to face the repercussions of casting magic, _Meine kleine Hexe._ " I chuckle lightly, suddenly stopping when the lack of laughter around the room tells me he's dead serious. Not the strangest thing to be told me today, so I hold my tongue on any surprised comments. I clear my throat.

"Right. Go do whatever it is you need to do to ready yourselves. I'm going to make a call to Miss Pauling to update her on the situation. I'll be in the common room, so come get me if anything new develops." Heavy stands up and towers over me until he bows his head. I have to get on my toes when I reach for his head.

"Wait, question," Soldier raises his hand as he bows his head to receive affection from me as well.

"Yes?" Engie puts his fists on his hips.

"Will we be in the warehouse?" He snaps his head to me when I tap him which is followed up by him opening his beak as if he's going to nip me. I put up a finger until he backs down.

Scout rolls his eyes. "No, we're gonna be in Yugo-fucking-Slavia."

"Damn _Socialists,_ " Soldier seethes, quickly beginning to trill when I smooth out his feathers. 

"I'm genuinely astonished every time you mention a country that isn't Mexico or Canada, boy," Engie settles, shrugging as he picks up a toolbox.

We disperse, and I make my way to the living room. I set my bag and shotgun down, leaning them against the side of the couch as I dial Miss Pauling's number. She picks up as soon as I sit down. "Fredrickson? I'm going to assume you're Fredrickson, so listen up. The Administrator has a public relations event on the docket for you with the new developing community, ScadWater. She wants the people to be on our side before word spreads that there are mercenaries in this neck of the woods. Desert. _Whatever._ Also, why didn't you tell me Merasmus was involved? You had me excited thinking we were dealing with someone who had the potential to be more tolerable."

_**"Merasmus hears all in the Scream Fortress sphere and I do not endorse such slander,"**_ his voice comes through the speaker of the phone, earning a lifted eyebrow from me. "Please carry on, though."

"Uhm," I chuckle, out of breath, "the PR event sounds uncannily normal in comparison to what's happening right now. Everyone said conditions have changed from previous years, and I can't give you an estimate on how accurate that may or may not be. We'll be tackling the issue in a few hours, and I may or not be available by phone?"

"You won't," Merasmus confirms. "Suspense is always fun."

"Merasmus, who do you need to pay off this year?" Miss Pauling sighs.

"Coyotes at the border, but that's not why I'm cursing all of you this year. All of you burned my uninsured spellbooks, and I paid good money for that! Eldritch labor doesn't yield as many benefits like it used to, but my economical strife is none of your concern."

"Why not go on strike?" I rhetorically ask, trying to be slightly snarky.

"The last strike ended with a war, I think we're past the point of rebellion," he answers. All three of us are silent on the phone as Demo sits on the couch with me, tapping me softly on the shoulder until I hold out a hand for him to headbutt by furiously bobbing his head. He clicks his beak as the silence on the line draws.

Miss Pauling coughs. "So you're going with them, Fredrickson?" 

"Yes," I confirm, adjusting Demo's eyepatch to stay over his eye. He flinches and opens his beak as if to threaten me, but I put a finger to intimidate him back, pulling the strap further down the back of his head. He caws, and I place four fingers on his beak with my thumb folded in my palm. He draws his head back in surprise. "Shut."

"Excuse me?"

"No, not you."

"I don't think you should go with them," Miss Pauling bluntly says. "I wouldn't say you're in the best shape to help out with much of anything."

"I have to start somewhere," I dispute. Sniper sits on my other side and bows his head down while closing his eyes to take a nap. He's an owl, so that must mean he's also nocturnal. His feathers puff out as he shrinks his neck, shifting his beak as he gets comfortable. "I have to help out somehow."

"You do. By handing out contracts and making sure their paperwork is done as soon as it comes in. Maybe bury a body or two if it comes down to it. That's what you were originally employed to do," she speaks condescendingly. "You can't handle being a mercenary. Don't let the name they gave you fool you, Fredrickson, your performance on the cruise was less than optimal. You're... You're too soft."

I furrow my brows as Demo rests on my shoulder, ruffling his feathers to also go to sleep. Sniper moves closer, our arms touching. I grow quiet as I begin to think about how stupid I must look running around and calling grown men adorable. "What better way to harden me up?"

"I need you strong, not broken," she says. "There's a difference. I need you to be able to handle your business when it needs to be taken care of, not to have the kindness and compassion beat senseless out of you. I prefer that you stay back for this, we'll find a different way to work you up to that. I know I'm hard on you, but that's because the guys won't be. I meant every word I said to you during your first contract. I was the only one giving you pushback because I knew I'd be the only one giving you pushback."

"Touching," Merasmus sarcastically conveys over the line, "but this curse was cast for ten people to deal with and you're not here, so I suppose she'll have to do. There's a fee to amend spells, and I am trying to make rent this month."

"Damn it, Merasmus," Miss Pauling groans. I can imagine her rubbing her temples. "Fredrickson, _be careful._ Who are you with right now?"

"Sniper and Demo," I inform, both of them nuzzling closer and ever so slightly trilling at the mention of their names.

"Oh, oh my gosh no... Well... Hmm-- P-Put Sniper on," she orders. I nudge him with my elbow, his head turning to me like a record on a player. He takes the phone and sits up, Demo stirring as Engie pulls in the chalkboard with the other guys in tow. He has a list of everyone's names on the board with numbers next to them.

"Here's our priority list," Engie starts, everyone taking seats. Soldier stands next to Sniper, asking feverishly if he's talking to Miss Pauling and if he's allowed to speak with her. "Sniper and Spy are at the top. We need 'em to be quiet and neither of them can do that if they're screaming half the dog-gone time. I marked Spy as one and Sniper as two."

"Why is Heavy at bottom of list? Is large gun not priority?" He aggressively inquires. 

"I'm getting to that, calm down, Heavy," Engie calms him. He screeches like a parakeet for a moment before continuing. "Number three would be Pyro. If there _are_ zombies in there, we'll need the fire to do crowd control." Pyro honks and bashes the back of my head with his beak. I don't even turn around to give him the satisfaction. "And so he'll also stop bein' a jerk. Soldier follows, then Demo. You two are somewhat long-ranged and explosives help with crowd control as well. Heavy, you're up. Your guns are loud, and you're just as loud anyway. It doesn't make much a difference. I'm last since I'm not out on the front lines like the rest of ya have the ability to be. Any questions or objections from you fellas?" Heavy raises his hand. "That isn't about the tactical order on this here board?" He puts his hand down. "Good."

"Engie, Miss Pauling's on the line," Sniper says as he bars Soldier from taking the phone. Engie takes it and ducks as Soldier transfers to hounding Engie.

"Canary speakin'... N-no, Miss Pauling... I just look like one... That all? Alright, well, Soldier wants to talk to you."

Soldier takes the phone. "Hello, Miss Pauling! That is all, goodbye." He ends the call and yells suddenly as a man rather than a bird, everyone in the room who's still cursed screaming with him. I glance at Scout who covers his exposed ear while gritting his teeth, getting up, and walking away to manage the noise. Heavy is the last to die down with his gravelly voice running out of air. 

A grandfather clock chimes inside my head, everyone else being able to hear it as we all jolt with straightened spines. Medic rises from the office chair he rolled over to sit on. _"Das ist unser Stichwort zu gehen._ Let us get going."

We gear up, making the trek from the fort to the warehouse while the guys give me small little tips about handling zombies. They're only copies of the team, not the team themself, so I shouldn't be too upset about having to kill a couple. To always keep moving was a given, as well as trying to make my way back to someone should I ever get singled out. A majorly helpful tip from Soldier: using my backpack strap would lessen the blow of the recoil on my shoulder. A crow calls in the distance, Spy responding. Smog-orange clouds swirl overhead, a hurricane in the sky with us in the eye. Heavy pulls aside a metal sheet they used to close off the entrance, and we head in. 

"So _this_ is Yugo-fucking-Slavia," Soldier comments, Scout snickering.

"Darker than what I expected," I say, my voice echoing into the abyss.

"That's why I gave you a flashlight," Engie responds.

"And I thank you." I adjust the lamp clipped onto my backpack strap, being the light source for Scout as he leads us to the barrier Medic told us about. Engie managed to get his hardhat to fit on his head, a mining lamp strapped onto the front of it. Everyone else carries a flashlight to shine freely in their own direction, the only exception being Sniper as owls are exceptional nighttime predators. 

"Right 'ere," Scout tells, pointing to a closed blast door with a small, circular symbol on the line where they meet. Scout tries to use his hands to separate them to make a point that it won't open. I turn off my light and look at the shape.

"That's either the zodiac sign for Gemini or the roman numeral 'two,'" I observe. "What would we need two of?" Scout leans against the door, the number changing. "Now it's a 'one.'"

"Maybe we're lookin' for similar traits? Which ane of yeez has something in common with Scout?" Demo sounds as though this is a life-long question.

"If it is disappointment, we will never see the other side of this door," Spy jests.

"Haha, real funny, Spy," Scout sarcastically counters. He rolls his head over to me, flipping his palms upward with raised eyebrows.

"Heavy will break through door, move," Heavy orders. I stand up and turn my light back on as the door creaks from the force he exerts. It doesn't budge, Heavy yelling out and ramming his fist into the metal. A dent is left where his fist landed, but still not even the slightest break or opening. Medic goes to stop him, the door hissing open as he draws near. 

"Two people with a broken curse?" Engie suggests making sense of it.

"Or two people with a Soul Gargoyle. That actually might be the same thing, though," Medic deduces as he takes a statuette from his back satchel. 

"Only seems logical. These look to be checkpoints to make sure we're not going out of order or somethin'. Let's keep going." 

It's dead quiet aside from our footsteps and the occasional trill. "What is this place used for?"

"Assembly line. We used to manufacture our own weapons, but we got Mann Co. to do that for us now. Haven't had much practical use for this place except for when I need scrap metal," Engie tells, the door slamming behind us. The point of no return.

The darkness feels alive. It encases us as we travel deeper into it. We aren't alone here. I release a shaky breath, getting cold spasms on my back. It's practically untouched in here. There aren't any decorations unless you count the natural spiderwebs and bats hiding in the rafters. I observe them move around along the ceiling with glowing eyes when Soldier moves his light up to look with me. 

_**"Mortals! Merasmus has arrived to inform you of the game rules."**_ Merasmus appears when the bats flurry, a green aura surrounding him.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Scout dismisses him. "We've been doing this for at least four years. I think we're good."

"I don't know the rules," I remind him, sassily. "I think I'd like to know how the game works."

"Oh, you don't know how this works?" Merasmus asks.

I shake my head. "I'm the new one, remember?"

"Oh! Yes, the new one. Well, I _am_ trying to kill _all_ of Team Fortress since I can't kill Soldier..."

"Why are we not able to kill Soldier?" I question. "I mean, I would prefer no one dies, but why is Soldier specifically off-limits?"

"Away with you!" Merasmus yells, pointing his staff at me. I flinch and throw up my arms to shield myself. I slowly look up at him, not feeling much different. He grumbles under his breath and he hits his staff against his hand. "Hunk of garbage... Last time I use a rental. Now then."

"Hold on, Merasmus," Soldier interjects, pointing his flashlight in his face. Merasmus doesn't even let him finish his thought before he throws his staff at him, rendering Soldier unconscious with a clearly visible 'mini-crit.' I'm still fairly certain I'm dreaming. Demo and I go to check on him, Merasmus hesitating.

"I suppose I'll lift your bird's-head curse, but only because it puts you at an unfair advantage." I turn to look at the rest of the group, everything back to the way it should be without much commotion. _**"Begone!"**_

The floor collapses under me, and Demo reaches over to grab onto my arm to catch me. I wrap my fingers around his forearm in hope of being able to catch myself. I slip out of his grasp- our fingertips grazing against each other- screaming as I plummet into the ravine.


	34. Thirty-Four: Kill a Wizard and Call it a Search Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Spy)
> 
> Well, that was idiotic. Never. Again. Remind me not to show up to work next year on Halloween.

I surface, gasping for air while flailing around for anything solid to hold onto. I grab a ledge and hoist myself up. My lungs burn and the back of my throat is swollen. Looking over the edge, my flashlight, backpack, and gun all lay at the bottom of the reservoir. 

The light makes patterns on the walls from the disturbance in the water I made. Those supplies are essential, so I dive back in reaching for my backpack first and just barely clutching the shotgun strap in time before I push off against the floor to rise to the top. The gun clatters when I pull myself up and roll onto my side. Shining my flashlight up to the ceiling does nothing, there's no hole there. Not even a ladder of any kind is present to allow me to ascend back to where I came from. 

No one else is down here with me, evident after scanning the water very closely. Miss Pauling would flip if she found out I was doing this solo. She doesn't have to find out. Tying my wet hair into a high bun, I set off down the only direction I can go.

Greys and murky blues are highlighted by the beam of my lamp, the water helping in illuminating the area. The footsteps I hear are my own. My heels land on the concrete. _Tick tack tick tack tick tack tick tack._ This job makes me thankful that I have come to favor chunky heels and wedges over the despicable stiletto. Quiet is either good or bad, no in-between. I make a right with the curve of the tunnel and continue on. The wet fabric on my back and legs feels grainy and makes me uncomfortable, making me think that I'm not all by my lonesome in my own clothes. I grip the shotgun tighter. A bridge leads to the other ledge of the same duct, but I ignore it for the time being and keep going. A bright yellow hat captures the attention of my flashlight, and I smile as I advance forward. 

I slow down a few yards behind him. That isn't Engie. The stench is unbearable. Its entire chest is ripped open, skin a death-riddled grey. I slowly take steps back, softly placing my heels down to limit noise. How it didn't hear me coming up, I don't know. A wrench is clutched in its rigor-set hands and slowly turns as it mills about. I'm not moving quickly enough, but I can't go any faster or else it'll notice I'm here. 

Something caught its attention because it whirls around and looks right at me with dried blood on its mouth and the front of its overalls. It rumbles, stepping closer to my light and snarling as it limps from its missing knee. Almost immediately does it single me out, roaring as it barrels forward. I turn and start to run for the bridge, the structure shaking as I make it over. Once I've gained enough distance, I pump my forestock. Water spills out of the barrel and the tube, but I don't stop to assess my weapon. Taking aim with the butt of the gun on my backpack strap, I take a deep breath and tighten my muscles before pulling the trigger. The blast is deafening as it reverberates against the acoustics of the aqueducts, but- at the very least- the kick wasn't as bad this time as I was prepared. I'll be sore after today, that's for certain.

It falls to the ground with its head blown off, and I carefully approach to verify that it's no longer undead. There's no movement. I reach down, whining about how this isn't the real Engie as I pry the fingers off of the wrench. One of them cracks, and I exhale with grief as another pops. When bones start to crunch, that's usually when I stop messing with the body. As if I've ever dealt with bodies that aren't fresh. Successfully retrieving the wrench is a feat all on its own. 

Absolutely no way am I going to be able to make it exactly back to where we got separated, but anywhere above ground is a place to start. I reach a dead-end and take a look around. A chain hangs from the ceiling, so I grab onto the handle at the end and pull down. The dam lifts and water rushes out to drain elsewhere down the line. When I let go, the chain slowly clicks back into place as the dam goes back down. I could fit through there. Pulling on the chain to reset the timer makes me act quickly and almost throw myself down into the trough and just barely make it onto the other side by crawling on my hands and knees. It slams shut. The only way to move is forward. I hear singing off in the distance, echoing through the halls.

_"...Going to find a wizard. Going to **crush** a wizard. Ya-dahya-la-dada..."_

"Heavy?" I call out, but he doesn't respond.

Not even five minutes of aimlessly walking about leads me to a ladder, and I gladly take it upward. My feet slip a few times and the rungs slide into the middle of my shoe, but it's nothing too difficult to handle. The tunnel narrows, and I press my back and feet against either side as I struggle with turning the hatch. Good thing I brought the wrench. Some ear-piercing squeaks and blister-forming on my palms later, I'm clawing my way out of the waterways and back onto ground level. I kick the hatch closed and adjust my gun strap as I take in my surroundings. A shiver dances down my spine and shakes my core with a drastic drop in temperature.

I stand in a deactivated boiler room, water heaters, and cooling tanks sitting and collecting dust around me. Snarls draw closer, and I survey the area with my shotgun. Two of them, one that looks like Pyro with a torn gas mask and another like Soldier with a hole through his stomach. They stumble toward me, and I take out the Pyro zombie first, rolling my shoulder before shooting Soldier. A desk sits at the far end, and I search it for, really, anything. A paper dating back to nineteen-sixty-two that was written by... Miss Pauling?

_"The BLU Medic, Demoman, and Engineer have switched teams and now work under RED. The Manns have been quarreling about this change in employment, so do not mention any of the corporate hoops when they arrive and settle in. These three act vastly different than any other mercenary I know for their classes, and the Administrator has taken note of this as well. She specifically requested that they be the starting point for her new special team: Team Fortress. Although the original has... they are... oppose Vanguard and... Gravel Wars... the H... e... ded es... lly... and the... was... mo... n..."_

It's too water-damaged to clearly make out anything else on the paper, as is with the rest of these documents. They're all crumpled and feel moldy and gross. An office key hangs on a hook on the wall, so I leave with it and come out into a hallway. The ceiling is high and the hall wide, with rough concrete for flooring. This place is ancient. Dust and debris float in the air in front of my lamp, a sneeze forming just from thinking about how it's tickling my nostrils. I pass by bathrooms, checking both the men's and the women's rooms to be thorough. I reach a staircase and carefully ascend to make the least noise I could possibly muster.

A foot falls heavily down the hall once I'm at the top, and I stop in my tracks. Another. Another. I have to hide.

Going back down isn't an option, That'd be too loud. I jostle the doorknobs closest to me, neither budging. The office key doesn't open them either. A purple light draws near, so I turn off my own flashlight and step over to a sitting room set aside, worming my way under the wooden coffee table and compressing my body as much as I can. Once I settle in, I can't move a muscle, the slightest shift could give me away. The light illuminates the room, the footsteps creaking on the wooden floorboards. Other beings shuffle along with it, perhaps more zombies. I close my eyes and breathe shallowly to keep my presence low. The larger beast starts down the stairs, the zombie horde ushering themselves along to follow. One stops and starts stepping toward the table. My heart compresses, and I move my hand to my mouth to stifle the sound of my breathing. 

_Don't look under. Don't look under._

"Merasmus~ Where are you?" Medic echoes from downstairs. "We promise, we won't try to kill you..." He starts to laugh hysterically as though he can't help it. "Oh, I cannot lie, we are going to _murder_ you!"

It snarls and shuffles away to catch up with its own group. I wait a while before slipping out and checking the doors on this floor. My office key unlocks a door, this looking to be a CEO suite. Grimy and old, but still looking relatively nice. Plants on the desk lay shriveled and long past due, cockroaches scurrying about on the tabletop. None of these pages are legible whatsoever, and there was no key to be found. A dead end. The window is boarded off, and I try my hand with the wrench to rip them off. My labor is fruitless. Going back downstairs, I traverse down a different patch, passing by what I think is a kitchen. Nothing in here has been touched in quite a while, rats scurrying around and pests buzzing in my ear.

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I whirl around with my shotgun, gasping and exulting relief when I see Sniper's face. "'Ello, Freddie."

"Oh my god, I almost _shot_ you."

"Be glad it was an almost," he says, leaning over and kissing me. I flatten my lips and look elsewhere. He pulls out his own flashlight and shines it at me. "You're all wet, why are you wet?"

"I crawled out the waterways under the warehouse, like, thirty minutes ago," I inform. 

"You alright, Luv?" He asks, thumb on my cheek. 

"Uhm-" I look down at my feet before back at him, "As much as I can be for someone who fell probably about five stories into a pool of water who wasn't intentionally going diving?"

"Fair enough," he allows. "You hurt anywhere?" I shake my head.

"Just a little cold, but I'll live," I sigh.

"Merasmus separated us, so I think we're all just trying to find each other again. Bagged me one of these little pikers," Sniper laughs quietly, holding a Soul Gargoyle.

"How do you find those?" I ask.

"You earn one by capturing a point. All we'll have to do is find you a point to stand on. This way, other hall's a dead-end," he grabs ahold of my hand and leads us through the kitchen and under an archway. This is more residential than I thought it was for a warehouse, but this is perhaps where more suits-and-tie kind of business was carried out. Sniper looks back at me, releasing my hand. "Er, Freddie, do you like me in that way?"

My guts flip upside-down. "Do we have to bring that up right now?"

"I'm sitting 'ere lovin' up on ya, I think we gotta get that squared away right now," he quietly conversates as we move.

I shrug. "I mean, clearly I didn't go into this job thinking that I was going to participating in romance. I don't feel anything like that toward you."

"So you don't?"

"Not in that way, no."

He's quiet for a few moments. "Would... Would you prefer, Luv, if I stopped kissing you?"

I flatten my lips. Kissing clearly means something different to him than it does to me. It might be the same way for the rest of the team, but a kiss on the lips is a common greeting among acquaintances back home. African diaspora was highly prominent in my neighborhood, my best friends all originating from either Chad or Nigeria. Hell, my dad's of Kenyan descent. The older folks in the community came from the Republic of South Africa, cheek kissing being their go-to when you met up with them. He's Australian, though, so I don't know how they do it there. "Kisses are pretty common as friendly expressions where I grew up, but I can tell it's not friendly coming from you. Yes, I'd prefer it if you stopped."

He chuckles a bit. "Demo's friendly when the New Year comes 'round."

"Uhm, Hogmanay, right?" 

"Yeah. Y'know what that is?"

"Only heard of the name. Aside from that, all I know is that there's alcohol involved."

"Merasmus, you better come out right now!" Scout demands from around the corner. "You're a weirdo, no one likes you, you smell like wet dirt, you're gonna die alone and-- Oh, hey Accomplice, Sniper."

"Hi Scout," I chuckle. "Think Merasmus heard you?"

"Tch, I hope he did. He's just a lame-o and a coward. Imagine having all of that magic and being scared of people like Sniper. It's the same thing with ghosts. Like, c'mon, just be solid so I can smash your skull i--"

_**"All toll-gate Soul Gargoyles have been collected!"**_ Merasmus booms from... Somewhere.

"Yeah, he heard me," Scout cowers behind me.

"What in the bloody hell is he on about?" I open my mouth to speak but belt out yelling instead as we drop through the floor. Medic caterwauls as he starts to spiral out of control. Scout echoes out with a higher-pitched shriek than I would ever have imagined he could make, Heavy's deep bass voice further below us.

_"My body was not built for surviving such a dilapidatioooooooon!"_ Medic trails.

"Doctor, I will catch you!" Heavy bellows, his arms out as he captures Medic and barrels down to take the fall for them both. I look to my side, Engie falling feet first with Pyro having his legs crisscrossed, neither of them looking bothered in the slightest.

"Howdy, Accomplice!" Engie yells to be heard over the wind, a toolbox clutched tightly to his chest and a hand on top of his hat. He's ever so carefree about the fact that we're plunging down a greater height than the fort itself.

"Engie, what the _**fuck?**_ " 

_"Incoming!"_ Demo announces as he nosedives past me and pulls Sniper down with him. "Break me fall!"

"I bloody _fucking_ hate you, Demo!"

Spy glances at me as he descends with his back facing downward, legs and arms crossed as he's unamused. "Come on, we do not have all day!"

"Oh my fucking god, that's the fucking ground!" Scout screams as we're seconds away from colliding. I close my eyes and shrink into a cannonball, preparing for impact as everyone's protests grow louder. My organs shift, and I suddenly feel sick. Peeping my eyes open, I stare at the floor, hovering a foot above. 

"Scout," I call as he still screams. "Scout. _Scout!_ We're not dead."

" _Ahhh--_ Oh, we're not," he coughs and clears his throat. "I-I-I totally knew that, uh."

_**"Mortals!"**_ Merasmus appears in front of us.

"Before you start, could you put us down?" Medic meekly asks, still in Heavy's arms.

Merasmus whispers as he does a headcount. "One of you is missing... Soldier! Where is he?"

"I dunno," I tell him. 

_**"Kamikaze!"**_ Soldier hollers, as he plunges to land feet first. He crashes on my back and sits on me as I slam face-first onto the ground. 

"Soldier, get your ass off of me," I groan as he suffocates me.

"This is pure two-hundred pounds of American liberty, sister, now give me twenty."

_"Soldier,"_ I gasp. Everyone grunts as they hit the ground from their hold, Engie pulling Soldier off of me.

"Son, you've got rocket boots for a reason," Engie sighs as Pyro dusts me off.

"You're in the final stretch for today," Merasmus says. 

_"Today?"_ I huff as I lean against Pyro and rub my lower back. "No, absolutely not. Give us an ultimatum."

Merasmus hesitates, twirling his staff like a baton. "I think I'm beginning to like the other purple one better. You're too demanding. I hate being around all of you anyway, so here's what I'll do. I summon all of my bosses at once- which is going to take up the rest of my magic subscription for the month- and you all fight them. If you win, I leave you alone for this year. Lose, however, and you pay off my debt, buy me new spellbooks, and suffer my wrath for the next thirty-one days!"

"Doesn't sound very fair," I comment. 

"Ugh! You," Merasmus growls, "are _annoying._ **_Merasmus has decided your fate. You: Are It._** "

"'It?'"

Soldier hands me my shotgun and gives me a thumbs up and a smile. "This is what happens when you don't give me your mile time. I'd start running, private."

The purple monster drops in and catches his pumpkin head that falls in afterward. He laughs ominiously, summoning a large, wicked ax and overshadowing us all. I shudder. "What is that?"

"Horseless Headless Horsemann," Demo says.

"What the hell does that mean?" I sputter. The monster roars and steps forward to me. Oh, I get it now. I'm _"It."_ Merasmus summons, grossly enough, a giant eye and a book with a bomb in the center. "What the hell is this?"

"Accomplice, go now!" Heavy orders, starting to rev up his minigun. "We will handle book and eyeball, you deal with pumpkin head!"

Scout twirls his pistol on his finger. "We'll help you out, don't worry Accomplice. We just gotta take care of these chuckleheads real quick."

I separate myself from the group and start circling the circumference of the basement arena we've been brought into. Sniper follows me, and I pant as I gain distance from my pursuer. "Hey, I know you like me and everything, but I don't think now is the time."

"Figured as much, just wanted to tell you to aim for the head. Also need to get up there," he says as he points to a balcony with gaps in the staircase. "See ya, Sheila. A _mplus tripudio!"_

He leaps fifteen feet into the air and does another, standing on the landing and immediately getting to business and aiming at Merasmus. Sniper would know a thing or two about heads, so there's no reason to doubt his advice. I turn around and take aim, giving the monster two to the pumpkin. He still stands strong, advancing closer and swinging his ax. I duck, the beast growling and winding up to swing down at me until Heavy starts to taunt it by speckling it with bullets.

**"Выберите себе размер!"** He yells, and the monster turns away from me to go bother Heavy. I'm no longer "It." 

"Peashooter!" Merasmus shakes his fist at Sniper as he shoots his hat off.

"Hey, Hardhat, need a Dispenser here!" Scout demands as he's resorted to using blunt force trauma against the giant eyeball creature, Medic keeping his distance as he as his red beam focused on him. _"Caputus crepitus!"_ A fireball ignites the crowd of zombies advancing toward him, and they fall with the flames. Medic grunts and resorts to a gun that quite literally shoots syringes.

"Okay, well _I_ need some dog-gone help! Nest ain't gonna defend itself," Engie shouts back at him as he wards off zombies with his own shotgun. I run over to him and clean house while he starts setting up his buildings. "This is gonna be a bit difficult, I lost my wrench."

"Today's your lucky day," I announce as I blast a hole through the head of an undead Medic. I set my backpack down and hand him the tool. Explosions happen, and I see Soldier and Demo taking on the evil eye as Medic's gone to support the two of them. Pyro and Scout deal with the crowd, clearing up space so we can focus on the four major targets in the room. The floor in the middle of the room turns red and a hologram pops up of the RED logo.

Medic and Heavy oppose the Horseless Headless Horsemann, taunting him and showering him in gunfire. Medic cackles and smiles maniacally. This man is genuinely all over the place. "Übercharge ready! I'll heal you, get the wizard!"

"Who fucking captured the Control Point?" Scout asks. "Soldier, was it you?"

"Negatory," Soldier says as he and Demo finish off the eye.

"I apologize to everyone but Scout for that!" Spy yells as he decloaks to stab a zombie in the back. 

"No, MONOCULUS! _Oh, well._ Hmm, this is boring," Merasmus comments.

"No! No, this is very exciting and engaging," I counter as I run out of ammo and switch to my handgun.

"Let us consult the Wheel of Fate!" Merasmus laughs, everyone groaning with jeers of disapproval. Everyone disliked that. He summons a portal and cards flip through it. _**The Wheel! C'mon, Wheel, Merasmus needs this."**_

"Accomplice, I'd watch your head depending on what we get," Engie warns as he smacks his wrench against the side of his sentry once while trying to get a grip on a bolt. The wheel stops on a skull. "This is gonna hurt."

_**"Jarate!"**_ Merasmus hoots. _**"Jarate for everyone!"**_

"Wait, did you take that from Sniper?" Scout questions.

"Doesn't matter, Rain of waste!" Merasmus finalizes, glass shattering on my head. I stand, paralysis hardening my bones. "Yes, that _is_ exactly what you think it is!"

I hate everything and everyone right now. "Whose is this?"

"I have no clue."

"Charge me, Doctor! Now!" Heavy pushes.

_"Raus, Raus,"_ Medic flips a switch on his Medi Gun, his and Heavy's body getting engulfed in a red aura. Their eyes glow yellow with rage and power as they both charge forward. The Horseless Headless Horsemann swings at Heavy, the ax bouncing off of him as he stands strong. Heavy aims his minigun upward and decimates the pumpkin, the monster falling in defeat. Heavy finishes off the demon book and slows his gun down once Medic's effect wears off. Merasmus is the last one standing, Sniper calling out.

"Give me _one_ good reason to not blow your bloody head off!" he challenges. 

"Okay, okay! You won't see any more of Merasmus for the year," Merasmus surrenders.

"Not good enough," he responds and shoots. Merasmus skids across the floor, blood pooling out of his head.

"Huzzah, we killed the wizard!" Soldier cheers.

"That's fer witches, Solly," Demo stops him.

A green cloud pours out of his mouth, and his spirit manifests above us with anger. _**"You all are insufferable! Do you know how much a corporeal body costs? Out! Get out! Leave, leave Merasmus's presence!"**_

"Merasmus, the real estate is already atrocious here, you'll tank the land value!" Soldier protests.

"Yeah, please don't haunt our buildings," Scout suggests.

"This doesn't even belong to you!" Engie sputters.

_**"I'll haunt whichever place I like, and I just happen to enjoy this spot. This is all your fault anyway, Team Fortress."**_

"Hey, _you_ came to _us,_ " I point at him and frown. "I don't really appreciate being drenched a random person's pee and then getting the blame pinned on me."

_**"Shut it!"**_ His staff bonks me on the head. I wake up on the bricks of the plaza at the fort, getting thrashed with water to the face.

_¡¿Qué mierda?!_ I put up my hand to yield. _"Me están sumergiendo en el agua, por favor para."_

"Accomplice knows Spanish now," Soldier notes. I think about what just came out of my mouth. 

"I-- I didn't before."

"That's what a magic staff to the head'll do to ya. It might wear off in a couple of hours to a few days," Engie explains. "Like, right now, I'm able to speak in perfect Swedish despite never hearing it in my life."

"Then how do you know it's Swedish?" Medic questions, concerned.

_"Snälla hjälp mig, Medic, jag är rädd just nu,"_ he says with a toothy grin that's laced with fear. Medic physically recoils his head back in astonishment.

Heavy stands with a water hose in hand, everyone standing around in an awkward semi-circle gathering, soaking wet. "Why am I here, why are we wet, what happened?"

"We killed a wizard and got free Halloween decorations," Soldier recaps.

"That we will promptly be taking down," Engie adds before getting sprayed with the hose again. I squint at him.

"We did what?"

Heavy's nose flares as he sniffs. "Do you not remember?"

I shake my head, Sniper crouching next to Scout and Pyro who sit on the ground. "Nothing?" I confirm. "Not even what we talked about?"

"The bird heads?" Medic inquires.

"The zombies? Us falling, like, a hundred feet? The group getting separated for thirty minutes and you falling through the floor? You trash-talking Merasmus and getting a staff to the head?" Scout tries, none of which ring a bell. "The Jara--"

"Don't talk about that," Sniper slaps his hand over his mouth. "You don't even remember the warehouse?"

"I remember Engie's experiment with the teleporter, and I remember we went outside. Everything after that is... Not with me. What was Scout about to say? Jara... Oh my god. _Oh my god._ Powerwash me." I lay down with my arms in a star position. _" **Power** wash me."_

Engie takes the hose from Heavy, turns the nozzle to heighten the pressure, and starts blasting me. "That sounds like a beer and a half."


	35. Thirty-Five: You Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Heavy)
> 
> Teammates have been acting weird ever since I suggested they talk to make nice. Sniper is not nicest man, but there is chance. Chance is tinier than Heavy feeling bad for killing dumb babies that make innocent dogs fight, but chance is still there. Heavy only feels bad for mothers of babies because babies had to grow up to be stupid.

The train rumbles as we round the edge of the mountain, the horn blaring as we go through a dark tunnel to cut inside the landform. Train car lights keep the car illuminated as the sun gets blocked out. I glance to my side, Sniper's head leaned against the frosty window, an aviator hat keeping his ears warm. Heavy sits across from us. He looks mad when he sleeps, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth pressed into a frown. Sniper sits up and taps his hands lightly on the table.

"Second contract, Luv," he says. "From the hot beaches in Florida to the frigid tundra of Central Siberia in Russia. Cold?"

"Just a bit right now, but I know it's worse out there," I shiver, trying to shrink into my coat as much as possible. He smiles at me.

"Thanks for coming, Luv."

"Happy to be here." It's quiet for a few moments. "I'm sorry, you _really_ don't look twenty-eight."

"Why does everyone bloody say that?" He sighs.

"Is true," Heavy whispers.

I sit up and adjust my coat collar. "I constantly have to remind myself that you're younger than me by four years, not older by seven."

"It can't be that bad can it, Freddie?" He complains.

"You look thirty-eight, minimum," I reinforce. "The lack of sunglasses highlights that. Moving on... Heavy."

**"** **Да?"**

"How much longer?"

"Hmm," he hesitates and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and glances out of the window. "An hour. Thirty minutes left on train and then it is thirty-minute hike through valley to get to village."

"And the entire village is in on it?" I ask. He nods and watches a man walk by before continuing. 

"There is no police in **Путоранский**. If there is, they already know about it and do not stop it. Stupid babies have nothing better to do in mountains so they make animals hurt animals instead of finding something else to do."

"Dogfighting isn't that hard to clean up," Sniper says. "Just kill the main wanker calling the shots and everyone runs like chickens without heads."

"What happens to the dogs and the people betting on them?" 

"Dunno," Sniper shrugs. "Usually don't care. It's none of our bizzo afterward. We just kill whoever we're told to kill and leave. Our main concern is not getting caught. Yeah, those other pikers were hurtin' dogs that did nothing, but we're the ones who shot and killed people. We're a bit higher on the priority list, Luv." 

"Lady who made call will meet us at station. I will talk to her about details. Then we will set off for village. This should not take long."

"Guess we should rest up until then," I suggest. "Plane ride over was no joke."

Heavy stretches his arms and yawns. He takes a pair of glasses out of a case from his pocket. "I will catch up on reading. I found book from series that Heavy has not read in long time."

My phone starts to ring in my purse, so I fish it out and answer it. "Fredrickson."

"You should start answerin' with 'Accomplice,'" Engie starts. "Gets you more used to using it."

"I don't think Miss Pauling would like that too much, Engie," I differ.

Heavy sits up and taps the table. "Tell Engineer Heavy said 'happy birthday.'"

"Ah! Why don't you people tell me these things?" I complain.

"Uh," Engie speaks quietly. "Tell ya what?"

"That today's your birthday!" I take a pen out of my purse and roll up my sleeve to write it down. 

"That's real sweet of ya, but you don't gotta make it nothing big," he speaks in an apologetic tone. "October seventh ain't nothin' more than the day I decided I was done baking in the oven."

"It's still an important day," I argue. "And Heavy says 'happy birthday."

"Tell him I said 'thank you,' then," he chuckles. "I called you because Miss Paulin' wanted me to pass on that we're going to be doing ScadWater PR when ya get back. It'll be for all of the week leading up to Halloween and then we get that day off."

"What do you mean _off?_ Four of you guys are just sitting around the fort right now."

"Work is only slow right now because we just got cleared last month. Typically, we'd only be milling about the fort for a week max to rest in between contracts. We get more time off than Miss Pauling does, but we still do work a lot. Get to travel the world I suppose, so that makes it a bit easier. What day y'all think you're gettin' back?"

"A couple of days. Four, max. Heavy's going to be staying for a while with his family and Soldier. I'll call you before we board the plane home."

"Alrighty, then. Uh, Scout wants to say something to ya."

"How does it feel being the hottest lady in the coldest desert?"

"This is a tundra, Scout. I read it on a brochure," I correct him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever... Hey, start thinking about your Halloween costume. Better be hot. We could match or somethin' if you want."

_"Yeah, the Beauty and the Beast,"_ Engie snidely comments. 

"Who the hell _you_ gonna be this year? Dell Conagher again?" He gets sidetracked.

"Scout," I redirect him.

"But, uh, yeah, think about a super sexy costume. A nurse is always a good route."

"Well, what do we have Medic for then?" I joke.

He's quiet before he starts groaning. "I- I _did_ _not_ need to think about that... Soldier wants to say something."

"Hello, Accomplice! Goodbye."

Soldier hangs up, and I sigh. "Engie said 'thank you.'" The Russian lifts his eyebrows at both me and Sniper expectantly. Sniper pulls a cigarette pack from his jacket pocket and lights himself one before turning away from us both to look out of the window.

I pull out papers and start to look over contracts, and we all go off in our own little worlds until the train starts to pull into the stop. Sniper gets my luggage down from the overhead bin for me, and we step off into the frigid winter weather. Despite the fact that I'm wearing gloves, cold still nips at my fingertips and makes them numb. The train station is empty and desolate save for a couple of women who were there to see their children arrive. Heavy leads us into a wooden information outpost that's warmer inside with a lit fireplace. It's claustrophobic for the number of people in here. There's a counter, a recliner and a bookshelf, an old woman standing behind the desk. She's petite, shorter than me, and stands with a scarf over her hair, a purple dress, and a white undershirt with long sleeves. If she's wearing purple...

**"Давно не виделись,"** Heavy speaks to her.

**"И тебе привет, Михаил,"** she responds, tired. They carry a conversation together, but I obviously don't speak Russian to be able to contribute. I step away to Sniper who kneels near the fireplace. I rest on my haunches as I get down next to him.

Heavy breaks his exchange from the woman. "This is Miss Mayakovskaya. Family friend."

" **Люба** , Luba, works fine. I also work for Helen," Lubov furthers in a thick accent. "I am sorry if you cannot understand me. I do not use English as often as I did during wars."

"Oh, you're just fine, Ma'am!" I reassure her as I stand and shake her hand.

"And this is Miss Fredrickson," Heavy introduces me.

"But Mona is just fine if you prefer, Lubov."

"That one is Sniper," Heavy points to the Aussie still next to the fireplace.

"Client is soviet officer, and he said his friends are also fighters," Lubov begins to brief us as her shaky hands retract from mine to hold each other. "He will help you escape if you kill his friends. They took his dog from him and forced her to fight because she was American Pitbull. She is dead now, and dog was last thing he had of his late mother. He will meet you in village, this is all I know. You are free to leave personal things here and take weapons, you'll be back by sundown."

"Thank you, Lubov," I say.

**"Спасибо,"** Heavy corrects me. "Is how you say it in Russian."

**"Спасибо, Люба** **,"** I say again, sounding horrifically American in the process. She smiles at my attempt nonetheless.

"It was nice to see you, Mikhail," Lubov says as we depart, Sniper with his rifle case and Heavy with nothing more than his bare fists as we step out of the outpost and set foot onto the pristine snow. Sniper and I stand outside as Heavy went back inside to get something, approaching me with a hat and slamming his hand down on my head. I adjust it as we start walking.

"Russian ushanka keeps head warm," he informs as he pulls his hood over his head. He then points to a gathering of buildings across the white plain before slipping on gloves. "Hike will not be as long as I said so." We follow him through the snow and track footprints as it crunches under our boots. He looks down at me and then behind him at Sniper. The cold nips at my nose. "Did you fix problem together?"

"Uhm," I chuckle gently. "We're still working on it." Something about the way he's acting gives me the notion that he knows. I hear a crack below me, and I look down to see a frozen-over lake. I exhale quietly, Heavy and Sniper continuing on without a second thought. I try not to think about it too hard and land my feet lighter until the cracking stops and we're at the other end of the body of frozen water. Steam plumes from my mouth as I shiver, Sniper blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth as he plows forward through the thickening snow.

A man in a uniform flags us down as we draw near the settlement, the wind beginning to pick up as we go down a slope. He's large, but not as large as Heavy. He's slightly shorter than Sniper but has a stocky build about him. He and Heavy converse, our teammate turning to us. "There is space in attic of house for you to stay Sniper. Accomplice, you will come with Heavy."

**"Это для вас,"** the man addresses me directly, picking up a duffel bag that was resting by his feet and handing it to me. I open it up to see American cash.

"Sniper, how much was this contract for?" I ask as I start rummaging around and counting the bales.

"Fifty thousand," he says.

I grumble as I stare at the yellow currency straps. "Heavy, this is only twenty-five."

**"А где остальное?"**

**"Получите, когда работа будет выполнена."**

"When job is done, we will get rest of money. **Лучше сказать правду.** "

The officer stares at Heavy with a hard expression, and he stares back. Both of their brows are lowered and their faces convey disgust with the other. Soon, the man points to a barn off to the side of the rest of the village. "Kill everyone, I do not care."

I sling the duffel bag over my body and place my hands over my mouth and nose, huffing to warm up my face. It's quiet and empty. We'd be killing every single person who lives here. There's no backing down in the face of adversity, especially when you're on the other side of the world. Sniper drops his cigarette into the snow and places his hand on my shoulder. "Let's go get set up, Luv."

He and I walk around the front of the building and stomp our boots on the front porch to shake off hardened ice. We step inside and go up the stairs, a creaking noise coming from above us. I stand still and put up my hand to stop Sniper once we stand at the ladder to get to the attic, the sound of gentle footsteps seeping in through the floorboards. I unzip my jacket slightly to take out my handgun climbing up the ladder before Sniper and glancing around as I peep my head through the floor. It's grimy and rundown, no one having touched this place in ages. I pull myself up, Sniper coming up with me and setting his case down by the window. He observes the windowsill. "Someone's been 'ere."

"Yeah, kinda figured that one out," I say as I raise my gun. A foot peaks out from behind a stack of boxes, and I approach slowly. You can do this, Mona. You've done it once, you can do it again. "But where did they go?"

The stack of boxes tip over, and I dodge out of the way, cocking my gun and pointing with my arm extended completely. The barrel of my gun taps the forehead of our unwanted visitor, and I exhale as I lower my weapon. "Hey, you're not that scary when you're not talking about cutting people in little pieces."

Sniper sputters. "What- Wha- What the bloody hell just happened? Do you know him?"

"Sniper, this is Cassius," I sigh as I holster my gun. "Scout and I almost killed him while we were trapped with BLU."

He coughs and lowers his knife. "Just Cashew also works."

"What are you doing here?" 

"Could ask you the same thing, Miss Fredrickson," he says as he rubs his hands together.

"You can call me Accomplice."

"Only if you call me Cashew," he bargains.

"Deal," I roll my eyes. 

He walks around me and takes his rifle off of his shoulder, sitting on a wooden crate and shifting one of the boards covering the window to make room for his scope to see through. "I was hired by a woman whose boyfriend was killed by some crime boss a couple of hundred miles west of here, but I caught wind of an open contract involving dogfighting so I decided to stay for a while longer. I assume you're also here for this contract?"

"Yep," I confirm. Sniper reluctantly sits next to Cashew, unpacking his own rifle. "Sniper, he's not a threat."

"I don't think I've ever met a Sheila as off the rails as you," he disputes. "He's _BLU._ "

"We made an unspoken truce."

"Mercenaries have a tendency to lie, Luv."

"Actually," Cashew interjects. "I don't work for BLU anymore. I'm freelance now, as noted by the lack of color-coordinated clothing." He's dressed in black pants and a brown puffer jacket with hair on the edge of the hood. "But I appreciate your suspicions, Sniper. Is Jeremy here with you?"

"No, Scout wouldn't have been instrumental here for what our plan is," I divulge.

"He doing alright? It would've been pointless for me to save him if he just ended up dying later on down the line."

"Yep. I'll be sure to call him and tell him you're well. Hey, while you're here-" Sniper rolls his eyes and shifts a board to get his rifle through, "would you be willing to help us out with this one?"

"Sheila-" Sniper turns to look at me.

"What? Heavy has just his bare fists and I have a pistol."

Cashew sits idly and takes out a thermos to drink from as Sniper pulls me aside. "Luv, as much as I support the idea of more than one sniper on a team, we can't seriously be branching out to the Vanguard drongos."

"I no longer work for them," Cashew notes in between sips.

"Yeah, he could've just easily killed us both right now, Sniper. Have some faith," I smile at him and pat his chest. Cashew's nice, and I trust him. No reason in particular, he's just a trustworthy kind of guy. Sniper frowns and sighs.

"If anything happens, I'm stabbing him first."

"Sniper--"

Cashew shrugs with a smile. "Hey, if it happens, it happens. What's the plan?"

"Really, we're here to kill a very specific set of people, but extraneous casualties aren't unwelcome. Heavy and I are going to go in and pretend that we're there to bet on dogs. This'll let us get close to whoever we need to get close to, and Heavy said he'll take them out with some good old-fashioned strangulation. If there are any people who leave the barn, you guys pick them off."

"Nice, nice," Cashew nods as he turns to look through his scope. "I grew up with dogs all of my life, and I have two at home right now named Peanut and Walnut."

I let out a quiet, wheezy laugh. _"Peanut and Walnut--"_

"I get so mad when I hear about stuff like this, so I would easily do this if I wasn't getting paid in a heartbeat."

"Me, too," Sniper and I say in unison. I smile at Sniper, and he groans. "Please, don't kill each other while you're up here. Heavy and I will leave from the back so you don't have to worry about shooting us."

"You're also red and purple, you're kind of hard to miss," Cashew chuckles. He digs in his bag and rises to hand me a cylinder of some kind. "Take this, too. It's a silencer that you can return to me once we're done."

"Thanks."

"Be careful, Luv," Sniper warns as he kisses me for a couple of seconds longer than a peck. I back my head up slightly and give him a look.

"I've got Heavy to protect me, I think I'll be fine." I pass the duffel bag off to him and start down the ladder. "Watch the money, we'll be back soon. If things go South, meet us at the outpost."

Heavy waits for me by the front door, and we both pass the officer on our way out. I slide the silencer into my pocket and zip it up to keep it from slipping out. I left my purse in the outpost just so then my phone wouldn't go off and give us away. The wind howls and pushes my hood off as we walk through the derelict town. Voices yell from within the barn while barks and sickening whines make themselves known. I try to harden my heart, but I can't help but feel bad for the dogs. Heavy pushes the barn door open, and we both enter without much fanfare or effort. He grumbles as he leads me over to the back where the stables are, a man sitting on a stool in a soviet uniform with a cigar hanging from his lips.

**"Ну ты и уродливый ублюдок,** **"** the man laughs.

**"На себя бы посмотрел,"** Heavy huffs. They both talk together, but I tune them out as I also try to disregard the sound of the suffering going on behind us. Heavy taps my arm with the back of his hand. "He does not understand English. He will show you dogs, but he will make you choose which one to fight. Do not worry, dog will not fight, so choose whichever one makes bastard happy."

I nod, the two of us walking under a rotting archway to a subsection of the barn. It's dark and dingy, the man yelling out and shaking cages to rile the dogs up. Rage swirls in my abdomen as I look at all of the canines circling their small prisons and baring their teeth while growling. Some cower with their tails between their legs, aggression not being in their nature. He kicks a cage, and the dog lunges at him. I sidestep and hold my arms. 

**"Выбери одну,"** he insists, pointing to the scared dogs. His eyebrows furrow when I don't move, and he pushes me forward while yelling. **"Выбирай, сука!"**

My breathing hitches and I point to a random cage as he berates me. A small puppy stamps around and whimpers in fear as the man reaches in and grabs them by the scruff of their neck. I unzip my pocket and take out my silencer and pistol as he ties a leash onto the puppy. I slowly screw the silencer on, walking up behind the man and slowly placing the cold barrel on the back of his head. He puts his hands up, turning slowly and puffing smoke out of his mouth. I look up at him, gritting my teeth and pulling the trigger. The canines go crazy, and I take the puppy with me, quickly fleeing the scene before someone comes in. I hand the puppy over to Heavy when he holds his hands out. He holds the dog up and observes their belly.

"Is a girl," he notes, despite the fact that I can clearly see. "Samoyed is not good fighting dog, Samoyed are not mean. This dog was going to be bait, not fighter."

The puppy whines with her tail between her legs, and Heavy grumbles as he holds the pooch with one hand to his chest. Miss Pauling told me about this before we left when I was updating her on everyone's jobs. "Heavy, we can't keep her."

"Heavy did not say anything about keeping dog, but I will put her back. Miss Mayakovskaya said she will send people to pick up animals," he says. Another man pushes past us to go to the dogs, and Heavy follows after him. I brandish my gun, but I didn't have to as Heavy picks up the man by his throat and presses him against the wall. "Take his weapons."

I strip him of his stun gun and his baton, Heavy puffing out his lips as the man kicks at him and tries to pick his fingers off. "Which one is boss?"

"Petya," he gasps and scratches at Heavy's gloves.

A woman enters, stuttering at the sight of us choking this man to death. She and I meet eyes, and I hold up my stun gun, threatening to shoot her. She panics and runs off. "Grisha! Grisha!" Fuck.

Heavy picks up the man again and throws him into one of the pig pens with burly Rottweilers taking an immediate interest in him and his flesh. I look away and run out to catch up to the woman, using my stun gun on another woman who rushes me from the side. This operation went to shit must faster than our other ones, but I don't have much of a baseline to tell if this is common or if it's just me. Cashew and Sniper have already gotten to work as the barn doors are open and there are people lying on the crimson-stained snow. Three more men with uniforms remain as they argue with each other about one thing or another. One pushes the other and shoots him, then shooting a dog when it tries to jump out of the pen.

I furrow my brows and don't even think twice about shooting both of them, hitting the gunman two more times in the chest once he's on the ground. Heavy questions the other man, then looking over to me. "More people will be coming, we must leave."

We both follow through with our original escape plan, Heavy kicking down rotting wooden planks behind empty barrels. We case the perimeter and step past the field of death our two marksmen created, running back to the house and entering inside. Our client sits in the living room and hands another bag for me to start counting. "All money is accounted for."

Heavy sighs. **"Никогда больше здесь не показывайся** **."**

**"Больно надо** **."**

He leaves, Sniper and Cashew coming down from the attic a few moments later. I hear whimpering coming from Heavy, and my gaze careens over with confusion, the puppy poking her little head out of his jacket. I look on apologetically. "Heavy..."

"Aw, look at the scamp," Sniper says as Heavy takes her out of his jacket and frees her neck of the rope leash. 

"We're not keeping her," I remind. "Miss Pauling said we can't."

"But look at her," Heavy opposes, "she is small and gentle. Dog means she can be trained."

I mean, he's right, but Miss Pauling told me about the mob mentality these men carry. They all act like siblings in a "Mom, you let so-and-so do this!" sort of fashion. Who's to say the other guys haven't asked Miss Pauling for additions around the fort like this? She's already mentioned just a few things she's had to turn down, and the idea of a guard dog was one of them. Heavy sounds like he has a history with canines in particular. "Well, I just don't know..."

"Hey there, Sheila," Sniper sniggers as he pets her on the ground, Cashew kneeling as well. I flatten my lips as they both give her attention. "Me Mum and Dad have Aussies at 'ome, keep the sheep rounded up."

"See, Accomplice? Sniper likes her."

"Erm, well..." This reminds me of when Leo and Sandro wanted to get a cat. Our mom said no, and the two of them were devasted and moped around the house until our dad told them to fix their faces before he did himself. I obviously can't say that to trained mercenaries because that's weird and an empty threat. There's no reason to say no, either, other than Miss Pauling's orders. They have the money and the resources to take care of her. "Heavy, I'm serious, Miss Pauling said no."

"Truckie showed me a couple of his designs for puttin' one of his sentries on a dog," Sniper adds.

_"A dog with a gun,"_ I wheeze. "Guys, that gives people reason to shoot a dog."

"No one ever shoots a dog," Cashew argues. "It's the unspoken rule."

"I saw one get shot _right now,_ " I mention.

"They weren't a merc. It's a code between mercs: You never shoot another man's guard dog," Cashew informs before making a kissing noise to get her attention. 

I scoff. "Cashew, you don't even live with us."

"Hey, I'm just being informative."

Heavy picks her up and holds her out to me, her belly showing. "Look at dog."

"Yes, Heavy, I'm looking at her." She smiles at me, and I take her into my arms. "But we can't keep her."

"Aw, Luv-" Sniper puts his hand on my shoulder, "c'mon."

My fingers sink into her fluffy, warm white fur. She's pretty big for a puppy and a tad weighty. She gives me kisses, and I melt in seconds. "Okay, okay! We can keep the furbaby, even if it means Miss Pauling is going to be mad at me. What are we going to name her?"

"We must name her like we name gun," Heavy starts, "strong."

"We're not naming the dog after a gun," I say, stern.

"Gunpowder," Heavy proposes.

"No," I frown. "She's a lovely little girl."

"She is strong woman, name her Bullet."

I gasp. "Absolutely not!"

"I understand where you're going, Heavy," Cashew pipes up. "Might I suggest 'Confetti?' It's another word for shrapnel, and it also implies a surprise because a dog with a gun sounds like _such_ fun."

"I like this name," Heavy says with a gentle grin. 

"Glad we got that squared away," I sigh as Confetti continues to lick my face. "I would like to go back to the outpost with a fireplace because I'm cold."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N} Thank you to my Belarusian Instagram mutual, Ann, for helping me out on more natural Russian translations!
> 
> A contest for INoA will be announced soon, so follow me on my Instagram ((amayita.samita)) or you could run the risk of missing out on some opportunities!


	36. Thirty-Six: Chaos is the Calm of a Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Confetti)
> 
> Bad vibes. No like these vibes. But head pats? Yes. Very much enjoy, love hugs. Hugs good.

"Brother!" A brunette calls out as we stand in the main lobby of the inn we're staying at. She hugs Heavy, and he hugs her back with a smile.

"Misha! You did not tell us you were coming," a smaller woman who I assume is his mother hugs him, and he has to bend over a considerable amount to embrace her. "Imagine my surprise when Luba walks out of snowstorm and says my son is visiting."

"Is surprise, Mama," he answers. 

I look over to Lubov with a heavy coat on. "Luba, you went through a snowstorm?"

"It was just light wind, it was nothing," she waves with a smile.

"Misha, who is this woman?" A taller woman with grey hair asks as she points to me. She squints at me and makes an observation from afar. "She does not look like much."

"That hurt, but you'd be correct," I tell her.

"This is Accomplice, she gives me work," Heavy says. He points to the first woman. "That is Bronislava- the oldest- that one is Yana," he points to a blonde woman, and then the brunette. "And she is Zhanna, the youngest. This is my mother, Tatiana."

"I thank you for giving my Misha work," she says as she takes my hands. She's just about my height.

"It's no problem, Ma'am. Heavy is very pleasant to work with."

"He is very gentle for his size."

"Brother, where is Soldier?" Zhanna asks, looking around for him. I remember that Soldier gave a postcard for her to Heavy. Are the two of them friends? Wait, no, they're getting married. I remember now. Heavy said that he doesn't know what Zhanna sees in Soldier, and there was the whole thing in the brig on the cruise. Heavy and Soldier being brothers-in-law is very unlikely and weird to think about.

"He is not here, only Accomplice and Sniper," he answers. All of his sisters are tall. Like really tall. I think Zhanna might be as tall as Sniper, and he's six-one. Zhanna's missing a hand. Cashew comes out of the hallway much to Yana and Bronislava's surprise, and Heavy dismisses him. "He is not teammate. Nut baby is just here."

"Hello," Cashew greets. He elbows me. "Hey, your phone was ringing."

"Ah-" I start to scurry off before turning back around for a quick moment. "It was nice to meet all of you!"

Cashew stays with Heavy, and I run down the hall to enter one of the rooms we rented. We haven't figured out who is staying with who, so all of our things are just piled into one place for the time being. My phone starts to ring again, and I dig around in my purse to pull it out, answering. "Acco-- Mmm, Fredrickson."

"Hey, it's Pauling," Scout says in a high-pitched voice. "Kidding, i-it's Scout. I've got, I've got a couple of questions about the contract you gave me."

"From fifteen minutes ago?" I gently sigh with a smile. "The one where I asked you 'do you have any questions?' and you said 'no?'"

He chuckles weakly and grows quiet. "Uh, yeah, that one. It's... It's about th-the pay."

"What about it?" I ask, straightening my back. Sniper was in here a few moments ago. I spot the light underneath the bathroom door. Confetti yawns and shifts her position on the bed behind me.

"Well, I was, I was uh--" His usual snarky and peppy attitude isn't present. "I was wonderin' if there's something else you can give me, that's a bit higher?" 

Thinking for a moment, I pull my files from my purse. "Hold on, let me check... Oh! Before I forget, Cashew was asking about you."

"Oh, Cash--" He pauses as if to think. "He's alive?"

"Mm-hmm, it was a chance meeting. He says hi."

"Oh... Well tell him I said hi back, then, I guess." My fingers flip through papers as he talks. "C'mon. I just really need the money, Accomplice."

I exhale and gloss over a paper. "You and me both. Okay, the contract I gave you was four-grand, right?"

"Yeah."

"I can give you a second contract at two grand for a total of six. I know it won't help anything, but it's better than nothing." It's the only one I have right now that doesn't fit anyone else's bill. I _could_ give this to Soldier, but Heavy told me not to since he'll be arriving here in a day or two. Scout sighs and swears under his breath before giving me a final verdict.

"Yeah, yeah, uh... I'll take it. You sure that's all you got?"

I look over everything once more. "Mm-hmm, sorry Scout. If I had anything else, I'd give it to you. I'll hand it off to you when we come back since the instructions are... Specific, to say the least. If something comes up, I'll let you know."

"Right, thanks, Accomplice." He's pressed for money, and I don't blame him. We haven't received payment for the cruise contract yet if we _are_ going to get paid at all since it came directly from the Administrator. Technically, I haven't been paid either. Much to my dismay, Miss Pauling had to collect what Engie gave me for proper taxation once she caught wind that we had that transaction. I haven't been able to send anything back home yet, so this entire escapade is for naught until I see what shows up on my paycheck. It's already become clear that some of the team draws in more income than the rest of us, but just how large is that gap?

Sniper turns off the bathroom light and leans in the doorway. "Something wrong?"

"Nope, we're all good," I smile at him while organizing my things. He sits next to me and reaches behind me to pet Confetti. I turn to look at her, a little smile on her face. "Heavy's family is out in the lobby if you want to go say hello."

"Later," he says. His arm pushes up against mine as he looks over my shoulder, his head ducking to read my papers. I lift them to my chest and glance at him before putting everything away in my purse. His hand rests on my hip as he puts his arm around me and this feels like an uncomfortable version of what Engie does. I pick his fingers off of me. "Luv, I want to show you something."

"What?" Our gazes meet. He has a long face with eyebrows that rest close to his eyes. His eyes seem to glow in the low light with the sclera that shows without his sunglasses. Without his hat, Sniper has messy hair that rests close to his head, but he has a bit of bulk to mess around with if he wanted. He gets on his feet and stands in front of me with his hands on his hips, sighing and pulling up the bottom of his shirt with both hands. I turn my head away. "No, please, let's keep our clothes on."

"It's just the shirt, Luv," he whispers. "Look."

Pockmarks line his torso, crawling up his skin and stretching so far as his arms. I never noticed the visible ones, hiding on his biceps on the inside of his arms. I technically _should_ know they exist because we did the physicals, but I had to 'take a break' and Medic took over while I stared at the wall outside of the clinic contemplating if I really absolutely needed this job before coming back in later. Sniper curls his fingers as he holds them up while observing himself along with me. His face twists, his lips twitching as memories rush through him. I swallow hard, unsure of what to do. He reaches out and grabs my hand to make me stand up, placing my palm in the middle of the 'Y' on his abdomen. His body is warm, and there's a divot where his blemishes lay. Erratic heartbeats make themselves prominent. Our breathing syncs. "What happened?"

"That part doesn't matter," he dodges my question and keeps my hand planted on his skin.

"I think it does if this is what we're doing." 

He has no problem spilling. "I died. Just like you. Doc didn't know what he was doing at the time, so I got the bloody frog treatment." He winces when he presses his fingers into the lines. "Still feel it sometimes. Think I'm missing a touch of my organs, too, but everything still works."

We're sharing and all I suppose. I slowly remove my hand and pick up my shirt to right under my breasts. He takes a step back to look at my stomach. "Two bullets. One more to the back."

"Three times," he whispers as his thumb grazes over them. My spine straightens out at the sensation, and my belly sinks inward to escape from the contact. I drop my shirt and sit down, crossing my arms over my wounds. "Medic looked you over?"

"Not in depth," I shakily exhale. "There are a few things I don't tell him. I'm not open to the idea of being... Open, for lack of a better term. Not everything works the way it's supposed to, that's all I'll say."

He sits on the bed across from me. "Those aren't the kinds of things you should keep a secret."

"It's my secret, I'll do what I want with it."

"What doesn't work?" He asks, and I remain silent. "Freddie, what it is?"

I press my lips together as my thumb lifts my shirt and rubs my scars. He keeps pestering me, and I shy away from giving him a definite no. He told me something that's going to haunt him for as long as he's alive, so it's only fair that I do the same. "I- Uhm, I don't work."

"Bloody hell does that mean?"

"As a woman, I don't work," I meekly admit. I glance up at him and see the disgust on his face, and I feel tears prick my eyes. I've seen that look before. I can't handle it, I can't handle that look. I have to get out of here. His expression quickly contorts into mild shock for my sake, but it's too late. He knows regardless now. "Why are we even doing this in the first place?" I sigh and start to bounce my leg. I'm dropping him. Cutting all ties. It's not going to work out if he gave me _that look._ "Sharing highly personal things, what purpose does this serve?"

"We move fast," he utters. "Mercenaries move fast." The bags under his eyes become weighty. "Anno that you wanna take your time, Luv, but you can't do that as an assassin. Things happen. Tomorrow's not a defo guarantee."

"I know that, but--"

He cuts me off as he leans over to kiss me, but I put up a hand to keep him away. I have to go. "I want you to meet my parents."

"Ack, whoa, hey!" I nervously back up while giggling uncomfortably. I need to leave. "That's, that's a completely new step, Sniper, I don't- I don't think I can. Er-- I mean, I'll meet them as a coworker, but not your girlfriend." Nothing bad happened today to warrant this. This is the opposite of a bad day, we got a puppy, met Cashew again, and Heavy got to meet his family. Is he dying? Am _I_ dying? Why so glum all of a sudden? I'm still not over _that look._ I need to excuse myself and get the hell out.

"Freddie, I know you're thinkin' of me as a bogan right now, but I'm serious," he backs off some and slides his shirt back on. "I've been sitting on this for a while."

"How long is 'a while?'"

"Since when Engie-n-I came to your apartment. I don't feel weird talking to you." I lift an eyebrow at him. "Not all of the time."

"I'm not like that. I-I need time. Like, I have to have time with that person."

"We won't always have time."

"But we do right now," I differ as I grab my jacket and my purse. "Sniper, I already told you that I don't like you like that. We're not close. We won't ever be close in that way."

"Why not?"

"When you looked at me _like that?_ " I get short with him, and he twists his face. "We can't."

"No, I was--"

"No."

"Freddie," Sniper puts his hand up to stop me from moving around the room, but I put a finger up to let him know I'm not messing around. Gloves go on my hands, and I pick up the large puppy to take her with me. She yawns, and I make baby talk to her as I go to leave. "Freddie, where are you going?"

"Outside," I say as I leave the room.

"It's cold."

"I know, that's why I put on a jacket. Hi Cashew, Scout says 'hi.'"

"Hey," he waves as I walk past him in the hall. Heavy's busy with his family at the moment, so I slip out unnoticed onto the front porch of the inn. The wind is mildly bothered like I am but times eleven. A bench rests up against the wall, so I take a seat and hold Confetti close. She's tired and taking a very well-deserved nap at the moment. She smiles when I pat her head, but I stop once my phone starts ringing. Nothing much to do at the fort, is there?

"Fredrickson."

"Mona, jeez, where the hell are you?"

"I am currently at home, Leo," I lie, deadpan.

"You are _not_ at home. If you were, you'd answer your stupid landline."

"You are talking to me... On the landline. It's not like I have a car that has a phone."

"I called five times and you didn't pick up."

"What are you doing up so late anyway?" I start to bite on the insides of my cheek. 

He groans, crass in his voice. "Early. I'm working. Don't you work, too?"

"I pay the bills, so I'd assume I do," I slit my eyes and flare my nose. This conversation is going much better than others. "Which reminds me, why did I get a notice about Salvi's tuition fees if I sent the money for you to pay for it?"

"I don't know either because I did pay it," he snidely says back. "Hey, when the hell were you going to tell me that he went to Disciplinary Hall? Or that he called you?"

"Never because it got sorted out." My blood starts to boil. "Miss Tatum explicitly said that his record would be clean because of the fill-in. Salvi isn't like that, and he knows better than to slip, Leo. And I'm pretty sure I get to talk to my baby brother whenever I damn well please because I'm his legal guardian and sister."

"He isn't a baby anymore, Mona, none of us are. Stop talking to me like I am one." He's short with me, and I think we're both close to blowing a fuse just for the hell of it. "I keep telling you to stop calling him."

"And I don't listen," I snark, "because we're family and it's my responsibility to take care of you guys. I'll keep saying it every time you bring it up, Leo: Leave Salvador out of this and let him make his own decision. If he doesn't want to talk to me then he won't talk to me just like you and Sandro don't. Regardless, my only goal right now is to see to it that he finishes high school and to make sure the two of you don't lose the damn house."

"Just because we came from the same two people doesn't mean we're family."

"We're related by blood and that is enough of a contractual obligation to take care of you for me. Any other grievances to be taken up with the court?"

He's quiet. "Goodnight."

"Mm-hmm," I hum, ending the call. My breath escapes me as I lean back into the bench, returning my other hand to Confetti. Ah, this is such an awful time to feel awful. What am I doing here? I don't belong here, not at all. I should be back in New Mexico with broken nails, burned fingertips, and food-stained clothing from working all day and night. Instead, I'm sitting on a porch with a puppy in my lap after I just got done talking about a thing I don't want to talk about but not before I killed three men and tased a woman.

Guilt. I killed three more people today, isn't that swell? Eight. George, the guy in the brig, the two Baileys, the one who looked like Bailey, and the three soviet officers. I thought this wouldn't happen today. They were bad. They were doing an obviously bad thing that I hate and do not condone. Murder is just as bad if not worse, though. Miss Pauling's right. She's always right. I'm _soft_. I'm so squishy and weak and vulnerable and anything that pops up that's well within my job description, I chicken out. There was no issue with pulling the trigger this time around, too. Overkill. I shot him three times. I didn't have to, I wanted to. Am I a wimp or am I a crazy person? We're just getting worse and worse. 

Exhaustion. Leo is seriously trying my patience almost as much as I am testing my own. And I do nothing but get on my damn nerves. Whatever I do, it's never good enough. Never for him. I did what I could. I'm doing what I can. He's not perfect either, but he still holds my past against me when it comes to me making official verdicts on Salvi's well-being. Everything I choose and have to do is essential to our survival, as is this job. But the last thing I'd expect to pop up with this job is romance. Or the illusion of such. Sniper was pushy, to say the least. I went along with it to not be rude, but he didn't have to act like that about it. I'm not desirable because of that little tidbit of information as if just looking at me wasn't enough. A woman who can't contribute to carrying on a bloodline. He didn't even apologize or try to dispute the fact that this clearly was a major problem for him. He doesn't know how much it bothers me already. If the others knew, would they see me differently? I would only assume it does. That's how people are. 

And like Miss Pauling said so long ago, there aren't exactly people lined up out the door for them. The only woman that they're in contact with every day and she's defective? It shouldn't bother them at all since they're not into me, but what's stopping them from having thoughts about it?

Not even Medic nor Miss Pauling know that I haven't had my period in almost two months, meaning that I'm just not allowed to bear children anymore. Not that I don't think I would want to at the time. I have to take care of the people in front of me right now before I even think about creating an entirely new person to care for. In theory, the thought of it is nice. It's like a trophy. A medal. "Hey, look at us, we're stable enough to create more problems for us to worry about and solve all on our own!"

How did my parents ever do it? We weren't very well off, but it wasn't a struggle. There wasn't much of a grind. One day we're doing just fine and the next... We're not. I went from having A's and B's in all of my classes to dropping out completely to allow for staying out well beyond the witching hour to scrounge up enough money for breakfast on my way home. What I'm doing right now isn't enough. Doing more jobs with the other guys and hardening myself up is the only way I can make this work. I'll just have to turn my feelings off. At least when it comes to work.

The cold blows through the front porch, and I put my hands on Confetti's side to adjust her. She's warm, like a blanket with all of the fur on her. Little black doe eyes stare at me, and I stare back at them. "You don't have a care in the world right now, do ya, girl?" My smile diminishes, and she whimpers. "I'm sorry."

The door opens, Zhanna poking her head into the cold. "Misha told me you have phone. This is true, yes?"

"Uh, yeah," I sit up and move my purse so she can sit. I start to dial the fort number on my phone. "You wanna call Soldier?"

"Yes. This is man I love and who has impregnated me," she bluntly, and confidently, says with a smile. I ogle her with surprise, pressing the call button and lifting the phone to my ear while still looking at her and then her stomach before back to her.

"Reliable Excavations Demolition. Tavish Finnegan Degroot, Demolitions expert speakin'," Demo answers formally with a bit of flair.

"Oh, you're back," I comment. "Hey, Demo, Fredrickson."

"Ah, it's ye, lassie. How're you daein'?"

"Uhm, great. Hey, is Soldier there?"

"Naw, sorry lass. He left for his flight," he yawns. "Talked to Miss Pauling. You, Spy, an' I're goin' to ScadWater together first thing when ye get back."

Right, the two of you don't have a contract for those few days. "Sounds like fun. We can talk about it when I get back to the fort. I've gotta go, bye, Demo."

"Bye, lass."

I look over to Zhanna and shrug. "He wasn't there, sorry. He's coming to see you soon, though, don't worry!"

"He is coming here?" She excitedly asks, gently shaking me with her hand on my shoulder.

"Yes, yes, he's coming," I giggle. "You must really love each other."

"Soldier and Zhanna were made for each other, purple woman. He gave me necklace of ears and told me that he does not care about missing hand, this is perfect man."

"Ah," I nod. "The bare necessities. I didn't think Soldier was too much of the romantic type. Or... The fatherly type." I should do the opposite of think about it.

She gasps and is slightly offended by my statement. "He is the most romantic man Zhanna has ever met, purple woman!"

"Uh, Mona."

"Yes, Mona. He is everything a man should ever want to be. He will be great father." I think she really enjoys the word 'man.'

"He's very loyal, I can vouch for that. He's only mentioned you a couple of times to me, but I can tell that you mean a lot to him when he does. Are you expecting a boy or a girl?"

"I do not know yet," she puts her hand on her stomach. She doesn't have a bump yet, so it must've happened recently. "I do not care."

"Oh, well, uhm... Congrats!" Just don't think about it, Fredrickson. You _really_ don't need to think about Soldier like that. Just stop... Yeah, just turn your brain off.

She smiles at me. "You do not annoy me like Miss Pauling does. I have question for you."

"Oh, what would that be?"

"We are getting married. Very soon. Would you like to attend wedding?"

Today is an emotional roller coaster. "A wedding?"

"Yes, wedding. I already have special woman picked out--"

"The maid-of-honor," I correct.

"Special woman is already picked out, but my sisters, you, other woman friend, and Miss Pauling can be bridesmaid. I will only have five because these are only women I know. Will you go?"

"It'd be rude of me not to accept."

"Yes, very rude."

"I-I suppose so, yes. Yes, I will be one of your bridesmaids," I confirm because I feel like she can snap me in half. "I've never been to a wedding before, so there are going to be a lot of learning curves."

"Zhanna has also not been to one. Soldier said he knows man that makes this easy. We will hold ceremony in America to celebrate all of family moving there. Misha does not know of any of this, so do not tell him, please."

"Don't worry, I won't," I reassure her. She pats Confetti's head and rubs her ears. 

"So you are new teammate?" 

"Technically."

"This team is good team, you will like it." She takes Confetti from me and holds her in her lap. "Zhanna is also part of team. Kind of. You and Zhanna are friends now because I said so."

"I could use a feminine friend right now, no matter how ungrounded she is," I say. "I'm okay with this."

Even though I don't even know her last name or how old she is, Zhanna gives me good juju with her outlook on things. She's blunt and straightforward and very charismatic to tie it all together with a bow. I suppose I'm a bridesmaid now, for the first time ever in my life. Sniper was right, mercenaries move fast.


	37. Thirty-Seven: Pathfinder and a Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (As told by Spy)
> 
> Flaking? I did no sort of this 'flaking.' I simply found a stand-in for what I was supposed to do as I could not make it. It was not a job I had to do myself, anyone on the team could have done it. Therefore, I handed it off to Scout. Once I heard about the near inferno in the corn, I knew that I had dodged a bullet. What did I need to do? I had a suit-fitting, and I did not wish to cancel on my tailor last-minute. He is a nice man, you know, so I could not do that to him twice in a row.

"Mister, are you a pirate?" The little boy asks Demo, the ninth child today to ask him that. 

"Nae, lad, " Demo responds in his Scottish accent, always ever confusing to the kids. I elbow Demo with a smile and shrug. "That's a joke, I am."

"I like pirates, I think they're cool," the boy says. "Your eyepatch makes you cool because you look like a pirate."

"Jacob!" His mom pulls him closer to her. "I'm so sorry, sir."

"Dinnae worry aboot it." The woman walks off, and Demo turns to me, holding his arms up. "Dae I look like a pirate, Miss Fredrickson?"

"I promise, Mr. Pirate-Mann, you look so much like a pirate that it hurts," I giggle. ScadWater is a quiet place, tranquil land for miles with cornfields and farmland. The community is still establishing itself in terms of still getting houses built and assembling a neighborhood watch and committee, but they- at the very least- have their tourist attraction prepared. That's what we're going to be doing today for Halloween PR, leading a group through the ScadWater Corn Maze. 

It's hotter than I'd like today, but it's manageable since I went the Miss Pauling route today with the grape-purple button-up dress and belt on the waist. Wearing stocking would've been a bit uncomfy, so I just wore knee-high socks instead with my mary-janes. I'm fine in any-height heels as long as they aren't skinny like stilettos. I _hate_ stilettos.

Only a portion of the team could make it to our first day of PR, but it's better than coming alone. Demo and I haven't spent much time together, so this could be a great opportunity to get to know him better. Spy was supposed to come as well, but he chickened out and took up a contract to get out of coming. Pyro took his place last minute, and his "costume" is either a hit or miss with the young children. He came as a dragon by wearing a hood with horns, wings, and tail over his flame-retardant suit, fitting with what his class entails. I didn't dress up because I'm here as more of a supervisor than a face for Team Fortress. Or should I say Reliable Excavation Demolition?

The sun is close to setting. We've been here for a few hours already to get acquainted with some of the future residents and mayor, Carter Heartwell. He's unpleasant and gives me an iffy feel, but I had to play nice long enough until he set us free to meet with the landowner of the Corn Maze. Her name is Julie Matt, and she's a bit more on the timid side. She has two sons, both of whom are going to be in our group. We're leading kids through the maze of a sort of Halloween scavenger-hunt. Kids find clues alongside candy and navigate their way out. Demo dressed, certainly, for the occasion as a pirate as they're well known for following a map and finding treasure, and dragons are known for harboring large amounts of such with Pyro. I think. We're there to chaperone and make sure everyone is safe and accounted for. A bit laborious, but I'm just glad I get a break from all of the craziness that happens at the fort.

"Hey," Julie rolls around to the front of Town Hall in her truck and calls me over to her. Demo and I step down the staircase and stand at her window, Pyro leaning forward in her passenger seat and waving. "It'd be rude of me to have you guys walk, so I brought the truck for a bit of a hayride. I'm sure the kids'll love it."

"I'm sure they will!" I encourage. "Do you want me to go round up the parents?"

"Sure, sure. Don't worry, I'll tell them what we're gonna do, so just worry about getting them out here."

I nod and hold onto the strap of my body purse as I turn around to go back up the stairs. Opening the doors, cool air rushes out into the open. I step into the dimly-lit lobby with glossy white floors and patchily painted eggshell walls. After gaining everyone's attention, I lead everyone outside and to Julie's truck, Pyro now sitting on a hay bale in the attached flatbed. The side rails are tall to prevent anyone or thing from falling out. Julie begins to brief the parents that we'll take their kids for a couple of hours, and they're free to come and pick them up whenever since we'll have walkie-talkies to communicate from within the maze. 

I walk with Demo to the flatbed, starting to help kids up to the elevation. The majority of the children are no older than seven, so they aren't the tallest in the world. Two of them are eleven from what I heard, and then we have one fourteen year old that must feel very isolated since no one else is exactly or close to her age. She gets up herself and sits farthest away from the group right by the entrance with a scowl and her arms crossed. Demo sits across from her, and I sit next to her since we have to bookend the kids without a gate built into the flatbed. Pyro knocks on the rear window of Julie's truck, giving her the go-ahead to start driving. We bounce and shift when we start moving, kids and parents waving to each other as we pull away from the building and start down the main road.

Houses are few and far apart, at least a five-minute walk between the homes that are closer together. Sundown is happening at the current moment, and everything carries an amber filter as the smell of dry grass and allergies fill my nose. Demo sniffs and rubs his nose with his finger as he turns his body to look at the passing land. Cornrows that go for what feels like forever, stretching the land as far as the eye can see. Demo points to a large house that's just a mere dot on a hill that's well outside of the limits of the community. "That's me shack."

_"A shack,"_ I sputter. "Tavish, that's a whole _mansion._ "

"It's humble," he shrugs. Demo is obviously getting quite a large sum of money. He's very quiet about it, and most of his earnings are probably going to a growing collection of alcohol anyway. 

Chatter is kept to a minimum until I start to introduce us. "I'm Miss Fredrickson, this is Captain DeGroot, and over there is Pyro the dragon. Both of them are going to be helping you find your way out of the maze with the help of some monsters we find along the way." A few of the adults volunteered to be inside the maze as well and give riddles to the kids to help them choose the right path to get out. I heard that there's candy involved, but I'm unsure of how that will be integrated into the event. "The corn maze is really big, so we wouldn't want anyone getting lost. We're going to use the buddy system, which means that you pair up with a friend and the two of you stay next to each other at all times."

Voices become active as pairs are made and conversations about costumes are to be had. Our teenager doesn't talk to anyone, crossing her arms and staring at her feet. I nudge her with my elbow. "Do you want a partner?" She shakes her head. "What's your name?"

"Marian," she puts. 

"And, let me guess, you don't wanna be here?"

"No."

I giggle softly. "Alright, I won't force you to do too much then."

We arrive, and Demo helps me down before we start to unload everyone else. I pick as many pieces of dried grass off of each kid as they pass by me, but they don't seem to mind it being there in the first place. Julie ties her black hair into a ponytail as she talks to me. "I'm going to drive to the other end of the maze and wait for you guys there. Pretty much, just follow the directions the guys inside give you. If you run into anything, which I doubt you will, use the radio. Do you have one?"

"I was not given one, no," I tell. Pyro taps my arm with the radio, and I take it from him. "Nevermind."

"Thanks again for coming out here, Miss Fredrickson," she smiles.

"Oh, don't mention it! RED is dedicated to our communities, so we're simply doing our job," I nod.

Julie hops back into her truck. "See you on the other side."

She drives off, and I take a deep breath, turning around and joining Demo and Pyro. "Okay, is everyone with their buddy?" Everyone nods, Marian hanging at the back of the group. I look at Demo and then flick my eyes to her, and I think he got the message I was trying to send for him to keep an eye on her. I squat down to two boys, both dressed as Superman. "And what are your names?"

"Jason."

"Tyler."

"Do you two want to be our leaders?"

"Aw, I wanna be a leader!" A girl protests. I look past the boys to the girl in a princess dress. 

"We can all take turns being leader, does that sound like fun?" I hear nothing more than a unanimous yes. I hum. "Then we'll take turns. My two Supermen, go ahead and lead the way."

Jason and Tyler start for the entrance of the maze, and I start walking with the bulk of the group, Demo and Pyro at the end. "Hey, Miss Fredrickson!"

A car door slams and I turn around to see who's calling me. I see Scout strolling over, Spy sitting in his car with sunglasses on and his sleeves rolled up. He faces forward and rolls his windows up, revving his engine and peeling out of here with a plume of dust behind him. He's long gone, but I stand there, whispering in shock. _"Was that a fucking Pontiac?"_

"I think? Dunno the details, but it smells like acoustic lung cancer in there, so I don't recommend riding with him too often. He's all stuck-up about how you sit in it," Scout rambles as he picks lint off of his shoulder. "Anyway, Spy was on his way home to flake and I got back early, so he dropped me off."

"Wait, whaddya mean 'flake?'"

"His job doesn't start 'til next week," Scout tells as we start walking to catch up with the group.

I roll my eyes and smack my forehead. "I really have to start checking the dates on those things."

"Who are you supposed to be, Mister?" One of the kids asks upon seeing Scout join us. He's the smallest of them all.

"Name's Scout, and uh--" he looks over to me as I press my lips together. "Sco-Scoutington. Jeremy Scoutington, and uh, I'm just a baseball player."

"I like baseball, my dad takes me to games," the kid studies his face.

"What's your name?"

"Benjamin," he says. "You look familiar."

"Dunno why I would, I ain't never seen you before in my life," Scout shrugs. "But, hey, you guys wanna go find candy with me?"

Children are very good at giving unanimous yes's. I shift my bag and walk to the front of the group. "Tyler, Jason, you guys wanna keep going?"

"Yeah," Tyler answers, pulling his friend along with him. The cornstalks are taller than Demo and compacted together on either side of us, rustling as the wind blows. Dried stalks that were mowed down crunch as we walk and Tyler turns around to talk to Demo. "Are you from an island?"

"Argh, that I am, lad," Demo answers, Scout smiling brightly.

"Ooh, ooh, hey, Mr. Pirate-Mann," Scout starts while raising his hand. "I dunno why you guys like booty so much. I mean, if you have so much of it, doesn't it start to stink?" Some of the kids giggle at the fact Scout made a butt joke.

"Oh, look, our first stop," I interrupt as we approach a man dressed as a werewolf at a break in the path. "Hello, kind sir."

"Howdy hey!" The man excitedly rings, trying his best to emulate the energy of a dog without having to make any of the unnecessary noises. "I've got a riddle for you!"

"Do you also have candy?" Benjamin asks.

"Only if you get it right," the man clears his throat. "Before I tell it to you, let me explain how this spooky maze works: For every monster you'll meet, he'll have a tasty treat. Two ways, the path sways, and a ghoul on either end will rule. Once he speaks his tongue, better be quick to run, for the havoc will only ensue once you find the correct road that is true."

"What does that mean?" Scout leans over and puts his hand next to his mouth as he whispers. 

"Did everyone get that?" I question. A few shake their heads. "The candy is held by the monsters in this maze, and they'll give it to you once you answer his riddle correctly. There's a right way, and a wrong way, and we'll only know which is which once we get the answer. We'll have to be quick on our feet, though, because he might just give us a trick instead of a treat."

The werewolf rubs his hands together. "Your paths are a scarecrow and a tin man. 'Oh, how I would love my treat to be a heart that beats. Try as I might, I always fail and end up letting out a great big wail! Love is red, but I am blue, how I just want to love like you."

"Miss Fredrickson, I have no clue..." Scout trails off and grits his teeth. 

"Oh! I know this!" Jason excitedly exclaims. "I watched this movie with my older sister, it's the tin man!"

"Right you are, Mr. Kent! Happy Halloween, guys."

This'll be a cinch. After the kids say thank you for receiving their candy and shuffle spots for being group leaders, we turn down the path with the tin man made from rusty buckets. Demo is the caboose of our little party train as Pyro hangs out in the background while Scout and I do most of the talking. Every stop in the maze is routine and we make it through the riddles with no issue since these kids are pretty smart and know their Halloween stuff. Scout eventually picks up Benjamin, much to the young boy's delight, and he has him sit on his shoulders all because Scout wanted to show him what it was like being tall. Our conversation steers in the direction of costumes once again as everyone talks about why they chose what they chose. Scout interjects.

"I've got a question for you guys," he starts as he readjusts his grip on Benjamin's calves. "Do you think me and Miss Fredrickson should have matching Halloween costumes?"

"Ah, Jeremy," I giggle as all of them agree. "What would we even be?"

"Anyone have any suggestions?" Scout inquires to our census board.

"Uhh, maybe you can do Snow White!" One girl suggests. "And you can be Prince Florian."

"Okay, solid idea."

I scoff. _"Jeremy."_

"Nah, nah, c'mon Miss Fredrickson, it'll be fun. There's the party at your place on Sunday, and I still haven't chosen my costume. Engie and Medic are gonna be matching, so we should, too, probably. I already asked Miss P and she said she didn't wanna."

"Well, she's going as Marilyn Monroe," I note, "so there's no one to parallel her costume."

"Okay, pairs, uh, let's see here," Scout thinks as we keep walking. I glance to check on Demo and Marian, Marian causing Demo to trail behind her as she walks slower than the rest of us. I sigh and go back to them, moving Marian along by putting my hand on her back. She speeds up and we catch up. "I was thinking we could be Batman and Catwoman."

"No," I turn down. 

"Wonderwoman and Superman?"

"Not a fan of comics or heroes and villains," I shrug. He groans, tapping his chin and thinking hard. 

Marian finally speaks. "Bonnie and Clyde," she shortly puts. "They're both."

"Hey, I like that movie!" Scout relates. He soon quickly becomes confused. "Should you even be watching a movie like that?"

Marian shrugs, and I nod. "I kinda like it."

"So you wanna be the Bonnie to my Clyde, Miss Fredrickson?"

I smile. "Sure, why not?" The next gatekeeper is a breeze, and we continue on. The sun is setting much quicker than I thought and we're only about halfway through the maze. I pull out a flashlight from my bag and illuminate our path, Pyro flipping open a lighter he has. It'll be much harder to keep an eye on everyone in our group. "Okay, as you can all see, it's getting dark now. Just to make sure we don't get lost by ourselves, can everyone hold the hand of their buddy?" My light sweeps over the kids to make sure they link up, Marian still lagging behind with Demo. Scout still holds Benjamin on his shoulders and holds the hand of his partner for him. "Everyone has their buddy's hand?"

_"Mmm hmphh feh-heh,"_ Pyro hums as he takes up my open hand. My hand is so small compared to his, and he's taller than I am by a good bit. Pyro, I thought, didn't like getting touched too often so I'm guessing it's all good if he's the one who initiates it in the first place. I close my fingers over his hand and turn my body slightly to show our hands together. "Just like this, or you can link arms. Everyone has their partner?"

I stop asking once I finally get a unanimous yes. It's completely dark, so I was very relieved when I saw spotlights turn on from the barn area. I still need my flashlight to see directly in front of us, but the top of our heads at least get the illumination if only dim. Pyro and I are quickly stopped in our tracks when one of the younger kids trip and fall. The boy starts crying and holding his leg, and I rush over to him to check on him. He shows me the scrape on his leg that goes down his entire calf. I dig through my bag, bringing out a first aid kit. "Jeremy, Pyro, could you take the rest of the group through the maze while Tavish and I clean him up? Here, also take the radio and tell the next guy up where we are."

"Yeah, you sure you guys'll be okay?" Scout groans as he lowers Benjamin off his shoulders and takes the radio from me.

"Yes, go ahead and go on. We'll meet up with you at the end since we're pretty close."

Pyro nods and takes the child's hand that was supposed to be this boy's partner. Demo kneels with me as I open the first aid kit and look around for some wipes. "So, what's your name?"

"Bradley," he manages between sobs. "I tripped and there was a rock in the way."

"Aw," I frown, ripping open the package for an alcohol wipe. "This is going to sting, Bradley, okay?"

"No!" He screams.

"I have to," I tell him. He starts kicking, and I can't get a reach on him. Demo takes the wipe from me and tilts his head toward the boy. I hold Bradley in my lap as he starts to thrash around and cry, Demo cleaning his wound to his dismay. Bradley screeches as Demo holds both of his legs to keep him from getting the dirt on his shoes on his scrape. Once he calms down, Demo then moves to get the bandages, placing gauze to cover the length of his cut and wrapping bandages around to hold it in place. He snaps a piece of medical tape with his teeth and places it on the open flap. Bradley's crying has subsided, and he stands up and waits for us as we pack up. "Tavish, where's the Hydrogen Peroxide?"

I hear the cap screw back on. before he hands it to me. "Right here."

"What were you doing with it?"

He smiles. "Just inspectin' it."

"This is empty."

"Inspectin' with me stomach."

I gasp. "Demo these are _toxins, **why**_ would you do that?"

He dismisses me. "I'll be fine, lass."

When I said I wanted to get to know him better, I didn't mean that I wanted to find out about his destructive behaviors first. I see Marian out of the corner of my eye, and I look over to her. "Marian, sweetie, are you okay?" Marian dashes into the corn, and I rise to my feet with the flashlight. "Marian!" Bradley runs off, too, and I look at Demo unsure of what to do. "Marian, Bradley, this isn't funny, please come back here!"

"Something's nae right here," Demo says as he unsheathes the sword on his belt that he said was decorative. I press my lips together as I reach into my bag and pull out my gun. The maize shifts, and I flash my beam over, keeping my finger off of the trigger as to not accidentally shoot either of the kids. I exhale shakily as Demo hoists the blade over his shoulder, readying himself to swing. "Aye, ye wee barras, come oot. This isnae a game, an' we wouldnae want you to get hurt."

A man emerges from the tall corn, dressed in blue with a pyro patch on his arm. I take the shot immediately without question, nicking him in the chest. The noise wasn't loud, and I forgot that I still have Cashew's silencer since I failed to give it back to him. He drops, and Demo and I get closer to investigate. He was ready to set this place ablaze, a strong gasoline smell becoming prominent as we draw near. They can't be. They can't be back. I frown and put my hand on my forehead. Nine.

"Miss Fredrickson?" My chest pings with fear until I realize it's Scout and Pyro. "What happened? We saw two kids come out but you guys weren't with them and hey, that's a dead pyro."

"A BLU pyro, Scout," I say as I put my gun away. Demo pokes him with the end of his sword to check if he's alive. 

"Naw, wank's dead."

"It's going to bother me if I don't ask now, but _why_ do you have a sword, Demo?"

"Eyelander," he says. "Miss Pauling gave it tae me."

"Not _what_ but _why?_ I said no weapons," I sigh. 

"It was a prop, but it came in useful," he explains. "Wit are we goin' to dae with him?"

"Get rid of him," I say. "I'll take care of that. Demo and Scout, go back with Julie and get the truck."

"Yuptae?" Demo asks.

"No clue what you just said," I speak as I begin dragging the guy out of the corn. 

"What is yeez daein'?"

"Gonna burn him out in the desert," I admit. "I'll call Miss Pauling because we've probably got trouble coming."


End file.
